To Conspire With an Antivan
by Lilou88
Summary: Isabela knows Hawke still cares for Fenris after all this time, even if she'd never admit it. Feed up with seeing friend so depressed, she decides to take matters into her own hands. When Hawke's group comes across a certain former assassin from her past, Isabela quickly hatches a plan with his help to get her friend the attention she deserves.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: ** It's good to be back! Life has gotten pretty crazy in the last several weeks; I've recently picked up a few new clients, and my schedule is positively packed for the entire month of December. Somehow I've been able to sneak in a few hours here and there to scribble away at my writing, and this is the latest result. I have every intention of completing this story, but I want to warn my lovely readers that updates may be slow going depending on just how insane my life continues to be. Please bare with me, I know how frustrating it is to be reading a fanfic only to have it die halfway through!

I mostly rated this story M for adult content that could potentially be added later, once I decide exactly how I want to handle certain aspects of it. Better safe than sorry in my opinion.

As always, please **let me know what you think**, the good, the bad and the ugly. One of the reasons I do these stories is to practice my writing (the other being that I'm hopelessly in love with the characters Bioware has created) and constructive feedback is always appreciated.

Other than that, I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

To Conspire With an Antivan - Chapter 1

"Ah! An excellent job!" The Antivan called as he threw the body of their last adversary off of his blades and to the ground, "Truly there is nothing like a battle between former brothers in arms to make one feel alive, no?"

"Well, that's one way to put it," Hawke answered sardonically. Grimacing, she wiped the blood off her staff on a nearby corpse. "Though if all you wanted was something to reinforce your appreciation of life, might I suggest a walk along the beach, maybe a good old life-affirming sunrise next time? This seems like an awful lot of unnecessary shoulder rubbing with death if you ask me."

She looked around, finally able to take in the aftermath of the bloodbath that had been their confrontation with the Crows. More than a dozen bodies littered the ground of the camp, among them the remains of their leader, Nuncio. The Antivan, a charismatic elf named Zevran, had gone to great lengths to ensure he was the one to bring about the commander's end, and had done so with a flamboyant gusto the likes of which Hawke doubted she would ever witness again.

"Quick in a fight with an even quicker tongue, it is no wonder they call you the Champion, my friend," Zevran mused, tilting his blonde head to one side while he smirked and narrowed his gaze, sheathing his blades as he did so.

Hawke ignored the elf's comment as she turned toward her friends, though she could still feel Zevran's sharp eyes on her back from across the clearing. It sent an involuntary shiver up her spine, though she couldn't tell if it was because he disturbed or fascinated her. In truth the rogue was a bit unnerving to be around, what with his jovial approach to murdering his own former allies. She would be lying to herself, however, if she said he wasn't attractive or ridiculously charming, certainly on first impressions.

As much as Hawke would have liked to deny it, their new acquaintance was causing an unmistakable flutter in the pit of her stomach, which concerned her to no end. Only one other person had caused such a reaction before. Someone stoic and sagacious, with an enthralling wit and a sinfully rich voice which always left her hanging from his every word. That is, when he deigned to speak to her of course. This someone had also been capable of turning Hawke into a lovestruck imbecile who thought she had somehow proven herself worthy of his affection, even despite his deep-seated prejudice of what she was. Quite an impressive skill, and an effective one at that, as it had earned him full access to her bed and breeches for a single evening's tryst which was still painfully fresh in her memory. Admittedly she knew she would have gladly allowed many more nights just like it, had he not made it clear he considered their coupling a horrendous mistake before storming out into the night and crushing any hopes she may have harbored that he cared for her as she did him. With this past limited, and quite frankly disastrous, experience taken in to consideration, Hawke felt justified in being wary around anyone who made her feel anything similar to what Fenris regretfully still managed to.

An all too familiar wave of embarrassment and hurt washed over her at the thought of him, threatening to send the so-called "Champion of Kirkwall" into one of the melancholic moods she had so far been successful in hiding from her companions. Hawke shook herself hard. Now was not the time to re-open old wounds. She needed to know her friends were still standing and in more or less one piece before she would allow the bitterness she felt to creep into her veins and take root.

_ "You really are pathetic,"_ she scolded herself silently, setting her jaw in determination,_ "Three years later, and you're still sulking. Just wait until you're home for the dramatics, then you can have a nice hot bath and mope all you want."_

She forced herself to focus on the others who had come with her, knowing it would be a poor way to thank them for their help if she allowed them to keel over because she was too busy dwelling in the past. Her healing spells might not be able to hold a candle to Anders', but she could at least patch them up enough so they could hobble down Sundermount and back to Kirkwall if necessary.

Luckily upon first inspection it seemed no such assistance was needed. Varric had perched himself on an overturned barrel, muttering under his breath about the gore he was already collecting on his new boots as he brushed them clean with a rag. Isabela was casually wiping away blood which was not her own from her face, joining Zevran (who she apparently had some sordid history with - Hawke was certain she did not want to know) and chatting happily about how she would need a stiff drink once they made it back to the Hanged Man. Hawke gave a small sigh of relief. The two of them were obviously no worse for wear if their immediate concerns were so petty. It was only then that she permitted herself to find their final companion, purposefully seeking him out last so as not to seem over-eager, and instantly kicked herself for not looking sooner.

Fenris stood off from the rest of the group, as silent as ever despite the trail of blood seeping out from underneath the hand he held against his left shoulder. The sheer amount of crimson staining his armor and skin made it obvious whatever wound he was concealing was deep and had been open for some time. Hawke had no doubt the elf had been injured within the first few minutes of the scrap, only to brush off the new gash to keep fighting as he had foolishly done so many times before. She could never decide if she felt such perseverance was admirable or idiotic. Her temper flaring, Hawke stalked over to the elf, who noticed and watched her approach with a grimace which suggested her presence made him feel physically ill.

"Were you planning on telling me you were hurt any time soon?" she asked, coming to a halt in front of him with her hands on her hips à la Leandra Hawke. "Or were you waiting to pass out from blood loss for dramatic effect?"

"It is nothing," he said gruffly, going out of his way to avoid eye contact with her by hiding behind the thick sheet of his hair.

"Andraste's ass its nothing, you're bleeding like a stuck boar! Now let me take a look at it before it gets infected."

"That is not necessary."

"It most certainly _is_ necessary. Give me your arm!"

"No."

"Why in the bloody Void not?"

"I do not want you to heal me, Hawke."

"Oh come off it, Fenris," she said, rolling her eyes while a soft green glow engulfed her hand. "I know I'm no Anders, but he isn't here and this needs to be healed before it gets any worse. It'll only hurt for a moment if you'd just stay still. Stop acting like a child and let me help yo-"

Hawke gave a start and a small, nearly inaudible gasp as something sharp bit at her skin, a brilliant blue light flashing to life in front of her. Before she had time to react, her hand was caught mid-reach between herself and Fenris' injured shoulder, pulled away to the side and held in a vice-like grip which dug the points of his gauntlet into her wrist. His grasp relaxed the instant she reacted to the pain, relieving most of the pressure and removing the stab of the metal completely, though he did not forgo his hold of her limb. She tried to cover up the initial shock at his aggression and the discomfort he had caused her, doing her best to hide it behind a defiant glare before lifting her face to meet his.

"I said _no_," he growled quietly, green eyes flashing with some unreadable emotion even as the lyrium veins in his skin quickly cooled and died.

"_FINE!_" Hawke spat, wrenching her hand from his with far more force than was needed. She spun on her heel to turn her back on him, hands trembling as she fumbled with the fastening of a leather pouch at her hip. After a bit of frustrated searching she pulled a small red vial from its depths, only to shove it unceremoniously into Fenris' chest without looking back at him, wincing as her bare knuckles made contact with the metal of his breastplate. A few moments passed with the two of them frozen in pointed silence before she felt his body shift behind her, raising his hand slowly to the center of his sternum and her fist. Hawke pulled away the instant she felt cool flesh brush against her own to close around the glass, least her traitorous heart beat loud enough against her ribs to expose how he still was able to affect her, even when acting the complete ass.

"Drink that when you decide you don't want to bleed to death," she said with half-hearted snark, her chest tightening painfully at the possibility, "Unless you think my elfroot potions are beneath you as well."

She stormed away without another word, unwilling to wait for whatever boorish comment he would have poised on the tip of his tongue to wound her with further. Moving as far from him as she could without leaving the camp and thereby abandoning those of her companions she was not currently furious with, Hawke threw herself down onto a wide crate by the entrance of one of the Crow's tents, her staff tossed carelessly to the ground beside her. She cradled her head in her hands with a huff, focusing on Varric and Isabela whilst going out of her way to avoid having Fenris anywhere near her line of sight. The two rogues had started fiddling with a few promising looking chests which were scattered among the dead assassins, no doubt hoping to find spoils from their fight that could be fenced in the Lowtown market for a few extra sovereigns.

It did not take long for Hawke's conscience to begin gnawing at her, chastising her for her decision to stomp off without making sure the potion had mended the elf's wound properly. She knew she should at least glance over towards him, if for nothing other than to set her own mind at ease, but her irritation only feed her resolve to do no such thing. If Fenris was so determined not to be tainted by her magic to preserve his precious pride then by all means, let him drop dead. What did it matter to her, anyway?

_ "More than you care to admit,"_ a firm voice in the back of her head said, _"and you know it, Marian."_

Hawke groaned, acquiescing defeat, and dropped her face into her palms again. She had not been surprised that Fenris, being the hard-headed, arrogant bastard he was, had refused her help at first. He always had been slow to concede to the fact that he needed assistance in anything. What had really stung her self-esteem was finding out in such a forceful display that the elf was so wary of her intentions he would rather carry an open wound than permit her to use even the smallest bit of magic on him. It did not help Hawke's bruised ego that Anders, _Anders_ of all people, someone she knew Fenris utterly loathed, had been allowed to heal him without so much as a sneer more times than she could ever hope to remember. She cringed, willing herself not to speculate on what horrible things Fenris must think about her if he would choose a so-called abomination's aid over her own. And yet Hawke knew, even after coming to this painful realization, that she would continue to humiliate herself again and again as she tried to piece together some semblance of a relationship between herself and the former slave. Maker, why did she insist on constantly torturing herself?

"May I join you?" A smooth, accented voice asked, breaking her train of thought and causing her heart to stutter, "Or am I intruding on a private moment?"

Hawke lifted her head from her hands and glanced up into warm amber eyes. Zevran stood waiting a few feet in front of her, the same smirk from earlier firmly in place on his lips with one brow raised in question.

"Oh, no," Hawke lied, pushing herself to one side of the crate and motioning to the newly emptied space, "feel free."

"My thanks, Champion," Zevran said gratefully as he lowered himself next to Hawke on the makeshift bench. Once settled, the Antivan closed his eyes, leaning back to cradle his head in one hand against the support beam of the tent behind them. They sat in silence for a while, Hawke doing her best not to think of Fenris so as to avoid any further dejection in her expression. Eager for a distraction from her thoughts of the warrior, she focused her attention on a flock of gulls hovering above the surf as they sought out their midday meal, the pounding of the waves on the coast below them drowning out their shrill calls.

"It is quite relaxing, isn't it?"

Hawke pulled her gaze from the sea birds to find Zevran's eyes open and trained intently on her.

"What, the whole slaughtering mercenaries thing?" she asked, only half convinced her answer would be wrong when it came to this particular man. Zevran gave a hearty chuckle at her suggestion, eyes glinting as a half-smile curled the corner of his mouth.

"As much as my behavior in our short time together may suggest, Champion, not everything in my life revolves quite so heavily around death."

"You can't blame me for assuming," she said, earning herself another laugh from the elf, "What were you referring to, then?"

"The ocean," he said with reverence, closing his eyes as he took in a deep breath, "The salt in the air, the cool breeze off the sea and the roar of the waves. There is nothing so calming in all of Thedas. Of course, having the pleasure of a beautiful woman such as yourself by my side only adds to the experience."

"I see," Hawke said, snorting in an attempt to hide the pleasurable jolt his words caused. "You can skip the blatant flattery, Zevran, what do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"In my experience, compliments are normally followed by requests for me to track down some poor sod's favorite long-lost pie tin or some other such rubbish. I've had a long day, so if it's all the same to you, let's just skip to the part where you ask me to do whatever it is you want me to do and I'm too much of a push over to say no."

"My dear Champion -"

"It's Hawke."

"Hawke," Zevran nodded in willing compliance, sitting himself forward to turn himself to face her, "I only say that you are beautiful because it is so. I do not seek any such favors for simply speaking the truth."

"Is that so?" Hawke asked in an attempt to appear nonchalant, though she was sure the crack in her voice made her fluster quite clear. One of her fingers instinctively found its home in a ringlet of her hair, twisting the dark stands upon themselves as she always did when she found herself out of her element. Feeling the tell-tale warmth rise in her cheeks, she sent a silent prayer to the Maker that her face had managed to stay a relatively normal shade of pink and not heat to flaming scarlet.

"Si, Bella, of course," he said with an air of incredulity, as though the point should be obvious to her, "Zevran Arainai is many things; former assassin, thief, conspirator and, depending on who you ask, a terrible lecher, but never a liar. At least when it comes to simple confessions of beauty, that is."

"You certainly have no qualms when it comes to being honest about yourself," Hawke said, smiling at the elf despite the last remnants of unease she felt regarding him. The smug grin and flash of white teeth he offered in response were all that was needed to cause every one of these lingering qualms to vanish. Hawke was no fool, however; she could see there was a motivation other than simple flirtations behind Zevran's casual smile and cajolery as easily as the nose on his face. Exactly what kind of game the Antivan was playing at, or if she would regret her non-existent resistance to it when whatever he was scheming came to a head, Hawke could not tell - though she found herself caring very little. If worst came to worst, she reasoned, she would end up right back where she had started, and if she got to enjoy a bit of convincing adulation along the way then all the better. If nothing else, it would help restore some of the wind in her sails Fenris had so effectively deflated over the years.

"Thank-you for that, I suppose," she said, unsure of how best to continue their conversation from this point, "The compliment, I mean."

The assassin waved off her gratitude with his hand. "Please, my friend, I need no thanks."

Hawke only half heard what the man had said, as when his arm came into view her attention was stolen by a long wound plastered with dried blood. The lesion stretched from the joint of the elf's wrist down the length of his arm, stopping just shy of his elbow. Without thinking she grabbed his wrist as gently as she could to pull it towards herself, realizing all too late he may be just as open to her assistance as Fenris had been.

"How did this happen?" she asked, surprised at the lack of resistance he offered her as she turned the limb over to get a closer look at the gash, pulling him closer to her in the process. The skin which was not torn was smooth as silk, and the rest of him gave off the pleasant smell of exotic spices and fine brandy. Hawke had to bite her tongue to keep from sighing at the exquisite aroma.

"Ah, that is courtesy of Nuncio. A final parting gift between friends, it would seem," Zevran said easily, unperturbed by her touch or their sudden closer proximity to one another.

"It needs to be taken care of, sooner rather than later," Hawke said, parroting the advice she had given Fenris not ten minutes ago while she carefully brushed away a few loose flakes of blood from Zevran's skin, "It's not very deep, but the last thing you want is for it to start festering, especially since it takes up most of your arm. I have a friend in Darktown who can patch this up in no time. I'll take you to him if you would like."

"Is there no way to treat it now?"

"I'd offer you an elfroot potion, but I just gave our last one to Fenris for his shoulder."

"Ah, yes, the branded elf. I overheard the argument you had with him earlier," he said. The former Crow miraculously chose that time to look towards Fenris, missing the renewed rise of color in Hawke's face. "He is a rather sullen fellow, is he not?"

She turned to follow Zevran's gaze, her eyes falling on Fenris for the first time since their spat. 'Sullen' didn't even begin to scratch the surface of the warrior's current mood. If she had been asked to describe it to someone, Hawke would have chosen 'positively livid'. He stood in nearly the exact same spot she had left him in earlier, shoulders ram-rod straight and fists balled. He was glaring at the closest corpse with ire which would suggest the body had uttered an appalling insult to his honor only moments ago. Eventually Fenris raised his eyes to meet hers from across the clearing, though he dropped his gaze from her instantly, his already stony expression growing impossibly harder as he did so.

"Fenris can be... difficult, yes," Hawke said with a sigh, looking away from the elf so as to avoid the temptation to return to him for a second doomed attempt at making him see reason. "But he is a good man, not to mention a damn fine fighter. He's saved mine and my friends' lives on a weekly basis for years now."

"It seems foolish of him to reject your offer of ensuring his own is allowed to continue, then," Zevran said, returning to his original position with his back in Fenris' direction. When Hawke gave a puzzled look at his remark, he continued, "You offered to heal him, did you not? And yet he reacts as though you were conspiring to poison him."

_ "He probably feels that it's about the same thing,"_ Hawke thought miserably, recalling his harsh refusal of her help before explaining, in as vague terms as possible, "Fenris has had – uncomfortable experiences when it comes to magic."

"I see," Zevran said simply, thankfully uninterested in a more detailed explanation which Hawke would not have been willing to provide, "I wonder, then, if I might not be able to take advantage of his missed opportunity?"

"Excuse me?" Hawke asked, trying to decipher just what the Antivan was implying and whether or not she should be offended. He answered her with a gesture towards his still injured arm, causing Hawke to feel both relieved and incredibly stupid at the same time. Of course he had meant healing, how much of a simpleton was she?

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have my friend look at it?" she asked hesitantly, a hint of nervousness she hoped only she could hear in her voice. She couldn't deny the fact that her confidence in her abilities had been shaken by Fenris' actions. "Anders really is much better at healing than I am – it's far from my strongest skill."

"My dear Hawke, if your healing abilities possess merely a fraction of the strength your spells from our – disagreement – with the Crows had, then I would not be surprised to see you bring someone back from the dead!"

"Now you really are trying to flatter me."

"Naturally."

"Oh, all right then, give me your arm, and hold still." She held out her hand and Zevran complied, placing his injured arm into her own as she conjured up the familiar green glow, trying not to allow the feel of his skin to divert her attention from the task at hand. The last thing she needed was to lose focus now and prove Fenris' hesitations valid by making some easily avoided mistake.

"This will hurt a bit. It may be magic, but your nerves still work, unfortunately."

"Duly noted."

She felt the muscles under his skin tense ever so slightly as she made contact with her spell, only to have him relax back into the cradle of her arm. She worked quickly, aware that in order to avoid the most discomfort for the man she needed to finish before the flesh became over-exposed to the tug and pull of her magic. A few tense minutes later, Hawke was able to admire the result of her handy work while Zevran flexed and twisted his mended limb.

"It seems your healing is far too efficient," he said lightheartedly, eyes trained on his repaired arm, "Not even a scar to keep as a memento! What will I have to use as proof that I once fought by the side of Kirkwall's Champion?"

"I could write you out a letter of authenticity if you'd like," Hawke said, pulling out a rag from her pouch and wetting it with water from her canteen. "Or autograph your arm. 'To Zevran, the most disturbing bastard I've ever met. Hawke'."

"I may just take you up on that offer," Zevran said, taking the damp cloth from her to clean off the rest of the blood still coating his arm. Hawke felt her stomach do the smallest of flips as his hand brushed her own and another whiff of spices drifted past her.

"You have my thanks once more, Hawke," he said sincerely when he had finished, handing the rag back to her after wringing it out. "You have been most charitable."

"It was just a healing spell."

"It was far more than the spell, my friend. You must realize that there are dreadfully few people who would so willingly help a stranger, let alone fight by his side and tend to his wounds in the aftermath. Your kindness is a tragic rarity in this world."

Hawke could not be sure whether or not she had imagined it, but she could have sworn she'd seen something in the elf's ever smooth, confident expression falter for the briefest of moments as he spoke. No sooner had the change presented itself to her however than it had disappeared behind tan skin and warm eyes, leaving her gawking at the man beside her. Zevran either did not notice or care that she was staring, choosing instead to look over his shoulder at the others in their group.

"Isabela and the dwarf have finished collecting their spoils," he said, nodding toward the two rogues whose packs were now significantly fuller than they had been when they first reached the camp. "And it seems that your Fenris is growing most impatient."

Hawke couldn't help but snort at the Antivan's words as she looked to the white-haired elf, who had somehow managed to become even surlier in the short time between when she had first glanced at him and now. Fenris looked up, almost as if he had sensed her eyes on him, only to snarl at the attention and mutter something she knew would be in Arcanum and unfit to be repeated in polite company.

_ "My Fenris,"_ she laughed inwardly, doing her best to ignore how her heart clenched at the suggestion,_ "as if he would even let me close enough."_

"Let's not keep them waiting then," she said instead, rising from the crate and retrieving her staff from the sand. Zevran nodded in agreement, standing as the two of them made their way to her companions' sides.

"Here, Hawke," the dwarf said upon their arrival, his arm outstretched as he passed her a burlap sack whose contents made a muffled clinking noise. "They had a few lyrium potions on them. Figured you could make better use of them than I could. Your cut of the coin we found is in there too."

"Thanks, Varric. Planning on winning it all back from me tonight at Diamondback as usual?"

"But of course!"

"What about you, Zevran?" Isabela asked, slinging her pack over her shoulder and resting her free hand at her hip. "Care to join us tonight? It's been far too long since I've robbed you blind at cards."

"A tempting offer. If I remember correctly, Isabela, the last time we played I wound up tied to a bed in one of the Pearl's rooms with nothing to my name but my smalls. Do you intend to leave me in such a state once more?"

"If you're stupid enough to bet your armor and then some again."

"Then I would not miss it for the world," Zevran said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. Hawke was sure she would have soon begun to feel uncomfortable with where their conversation was headed, had her train of thought not been interrupted.

"We are to associate with an assassin now?" Fenris asked, the sudden harshness of his voice nearly making Hawke jump out of her skin. He had joined them silently, and now stood behind and between Hawke and Zevran, glaring at the former Crow with an intensity fit to set the man on fire. Hawke saw, with a mixture of relief and annoyance at his earlier antics, that his arm was once again whole. "Does our party not contain enough miscreants as it is?"

"Oh relax, Broody," Varric said, easily brushing off the elf's vitriol. "If the man's as bad at cards as it sounds, you might actually win some coin for once."

"So it's settled! We'll see you at eight o'clock," Isabela said, beaming as she took hold of Zevran's shoulder and marched him down the path which led back to Kirkwall rather abruptly, chattering excitedly about a hat shop in Lowtown she wanted to show him. Fenris glared after them, not bothering to disguise his contempt while Varric eyed him with amusement.

"Something about Rivaini's friend rub you the wrong way, elf? It's the tattoos, isn't it? Don't worry, he's got nothing on you. Isabela says his don't even glow, can you imagine?"

"The Crow is of little consequence to me, dwarf."

"Then why are you acting like such a tit?" Hawke asked angrily, more to herself than anyone in particular. She had apparently not been as subtle as she thought, however, as Varric snorted into his gloved hand, failing miserably at playing it off as a cough while Fenris finally pulled his focus from the retreating couple to glare at her instead.

"I'm merely wondering whether it is wise to place ourselves in the company of a man such as him."

"And why is that?"

"I do not believe his - _motivations_ – are honorable."

"Isabela trusts him, Fenris, and I trust Isabela. That's good enough for me."

"Yes, a wonderful plan," he snapped, eyes darkening, "Place your confidence in a whore whose disloyalty is the reason you were nearly run through by the Arishok. Pure brilliance."

Hawke felt her temper rise, burning at the back of her throat as a multitude of potential retorts raced through her head, begging to be thrown in his face. She could feel her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palm, and tasted blood as she caught the inside of her cheek in her clenched jaw. The small stabs of pain distracted her long enough to allow a few deep, slow breaths, effectively tamping down her frustration. Rather than sling insults, she settled for a loud sigh.

"I'm not having this argument," she said firmly, "Not now, not ever. If Zevran comes, he bloody well comes. He's not going to hurt anyone by playing cards and drinking piss poor ale."

"Well, that is unless he and Rivaini share the same hobby of starting bar brawls once they're three sheets to the wind."

"Helpful, Varric, thank you," Hawke said, shaking her head as she started on the path Isabela and Zevran had left down minutes earlier, "I'm going home for a bath and a bit of sanity now, if it's all the same to you lot."

"We'll be seeing you at eight then, Hawke!" she heard Varric shout, ignoring him as she trudged along the sandy trail, far too eager for a moment's peace before the night's card game to be bothered to look back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **First off, let me say **THANK YOU **so very much to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed after reading chapter one. It's always extremely encouraging to know that people are enjoying the story, and I hope that it lives up to your expectations!

I figured I would give you all a heads up that I've changed around a couple cannon details in this chapter that should be pretty obvious when you read through. I fought with myself about this decision a bit, as I try to stay as true to the original happenings as much as possible. Ultimately I decided that these changes worked better for this particular story, and that seeing as it's fanfiction it shouldn't be too big of a deal.

Lastly I'd like to say thanks one more time for your patience in between updates. Life is still crazy hectic, and I've quite literally been typing away in any chunk of free time I've been able to get. With Christmas coming on Tuesday, I've decided that I'm going to take a short break from working on TCWAA until after the holidays have come and gone, and I hope you all will understand that it's only so that I can keep my sanity and actually visit with my family over the next week. Thank you so much again for your patience guys, I really appreciate it!

With all that said, I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter! I split it into two entries to make it more manageable, haha.

Happy Holidays!

* * *

To Conspire With an Antivan - Chapter 2

"You always manage to find yourself in the most interesting of company, Isabela," Zevran mused, his eyes still trained on the fuming mage as she stalked towards Fenris, "This Champion of yours is a fascinating woman."

"Hawke's something else, that's for sure," Isabela said as she scrubbed at the last splotch of blood left on her cheek. "She may not look the part, or act it either, but the girl's hard as nails. She's got quite the mean streak if you're stupid enough to cross her."

"It certainly would seem that way," the elf said, inclining his head toward a pile of charred corpses in the middle of the camp's clearing. "If nothing else, seeing how she fought today certainly makes your story about her duel with the Arishok seem far less fanciful than it once appeared."

"I told you she was a spitfire, and possibly a bit deranged," she said with a chuckle as she set to work on a locked chest. "I suppose it'd take at least a little insanity to go up against a man the size of a bronto with a sword that's bigger than all of you combined for the sake of saving my pathetic ass, but that's Hawke for you. Loyal to the last, no matter what."

"You mean to say the Champion took on the Arishok for your benefit?" Zevran asked, a hint of disbelief tucked into his question.

"Unfortunately, yes," the pirate said with a sigh, an old needle of guilt prodding at the back of her mind. "It's a long story. Let's just say I may or may not have had a little to do with the whole 'Kossith overrunning the city' thing, and if it weren't for Hawke I'd be going on year three of mindless enslavement in Par Vollen by now."

Zevran clucked reproachfully, joining Isabela as she began to sort through the contents of the trunk.

"It sounds as though you owe your friend quite the debt," he said, picking up a dagger with a large ruby in its hilt which had been hidden amongst some torn trousers. "Do you mind if I take this? I know a man in Rialto who would be most interested."

Isabela dismissed the weapon with an indifferent wave of her hand. "Have at it. It's a bit too Orlesian for my taste, anyway."

"Thank you," Zevran set the blade beside his rucksack with a few other items before turning back to her. "You know, Isabela, I -"

"_FINE!_"

The two rogues jumped at the sudden shout, turning in time to see Hawke wrench her hand from Fenris' grip, her furious expression a mirror image of his own. They watched as the mage whipped around to face away from the elf, only to tear something from a pouch at her hip and shove it into his chest moments later. No sooner had he begrudgingly taken whatever the item was than Hawke tore her hand from him once more, muttering something which, while incomprehensible at their distance, was no doubt boiling with frustration if the frown she wore were any indication. With that she stormed off towards a tent on the opposite side of the clearing, dropping herself with a 'humph' onto a wooden crate, her valiant attempt at a glower quickly fading into a melancholy which the girl no doubt thought had gone unseen.

Isabela felt herself bristle at the sight of it, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Fenris, who was still scowling at the item held in his hand. For what had to have been close to the hundredth time in the past week, the pirate struggled to rein in her temptation to smack the man upside his pretty little head. She instead settled for grumbling to herself as she turned back to the chest in front of her, her irritation earning her a curious glance from Zevran.

"You seem quite nettled over a simple lover's quarrel, my friend," he said, watching with poorly hidden bemusement as she took her anger out on a set of brass scales, tossing them end-over-end until they clattered into a boulder at the edge of the camp.

"If only it were that simple," she snorted, sending another heated glare in Fenris' direction over her shoulder, "Not that Hawke hasn't been trying - the girl's been practically throwing herself at the fool for years now."

"And he has remained oblivious all this time?" the Antivan asked, now shifting his gaze between Hawke and Fenris. "You would think anyone with eyes could see her intentions, they are nothing if not painfully obvious."

"Oh no, the stupid git knows the girl is head over heels for him. They had a fling a couple of years ago. Were thick as thieves too, until Fenris decided to act the twat and started giving Hawke the cold shoulder once he'd gotten into her smalls. Poor thing hasn't been quite the same since. She likes to think she's kept the rest of us in the dark, but a blind nug could see how much its gotten to her. All of her get up and go just sort of got up and left, you know?"

"Is the man mad?" Zevran said incredulously, sounding horror struck at the revelation. "Surely he must be to toss such a woman aside!"

"Either that, or he's an insensitive bastard in desperate need of some not-so-gentle encouragement. Personally, my guess would be it's a little of both," she said, her voice trailing off as the beginnings of a sinfully wicked idea began to form in her head. She shot a glance in Zevran's direction, a devious smile stretching itself across her lips. This was just too perfect an opportunity for her to pass up.

"Say, Zevran," she said playfully, brushing the sand off her knees. "Do you remember that night in Denerim a few years back when you and the dwarf from Ostwick got drunk off your asses on dwarven ale?"

"How could I forget!" he said excitedly, finally taking his eyes off of Hawke and Fenris as he stood to join her. "That was the night I met that lovely girl, Reyna, I believe her name was - or perhaps it was Rana. She was a fine dancer either way, a shame her husband had to come and ruin the fun. She had just started to give me a private demonstration of some of her more complicated – techniques."

"Yes, that's the night. And if I'm not mistaken, said husband and you proceeded to destroy half of my hold and cut down my main sail before I could convince him not to kill you for diddling his wife."

"Lies and slander, I know for a fact we managed to tear apart your rigging as well. I know where this is going, Isabela. You do realize you can't possibly hold one drunken evening's catastrophe over my head permanently, yes?"

"Seeing as I never saw a single sovereign from you to cover the damages, I figure _I'll_ decide when that's the case," she said, leaning up against a nearby tent pole and crossing her arms. "Besides, I think you'll find this favor I have in mind just as fun for you as it is for me."

"Oh? Then this is a scheme I simply must hear."

"You said yourself I owe Hawke a debt and I couldn't agree with you more. I just hadn't been able to think of anything until now," she said with a glance towards the gloomy looking mage. "The girl's been on her own ever since tall, dark and broody over there walked out on her. I'm not going to pretend I know exactly why he did it or if he even gives two shits anymore, but if this were a gamble my coin would be on him just being too much of a coward to put on his big boy smalls and fix whatever mess he made himself. So I say we give him the proper motivation."

"I must admit, I am intrigued. Please, continue. What is it you wish of me?"

"All I need you to do right now," Isabela said, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard by Varric, who had come closer to fiddle with another chest, "is give the girl the attention she deserves. Chat her up a bit, give her a few compliments, let her heal anything you got in the scrap, that sort of thing. Then, when Fenris takes notice, and trust me he will, slip in a bit of flagrant ogling. If I know Hawke, she'll be too preoccupied with fixing you up to notice, and with any luck we should get a fair idea of just how much of Fenris' apathy is a bold-faced lie. Then we can make further plans accordingly."

"So all I must do is converse with a beautiful woman in the hopes of making her former lover mad with jealousy?" Zevran asked, looking as though he had expected the plan to be a bit more complicated. "My dear Isabela, all you had to do was ask! There was no need to lower yourself by resorting to blackmail to persuade me!"

"So you'll do it, then?"

"With pleasure," Zevran said, grinning widely. "There is just one small matter we must resolve first."

"Oh? What might that be?"

"You suggested I let her heal me so she was properly distracted, yes? If this is the case, it seems I was far too efficient in finishing off our dead friends." Zevran stepped back, holding his arms out to either side to allow the pirate a full view of unbroken bronze skin. "Unless you count the stubbed toe I received while climbing up this accursed mountain, I remain regrettably undamaged."

Isabela paused for a moment, her brow scrunched in thought, before turning back to the piles of loot they had divided between themselves from the trunk. She bent down to rifle through Zevran's collection, casting aside a few dubious looking vials of what were no doubt poisons and a blue silken shirt to find the dagger at the bottom of the heap. She took hold of the blade, facing the Antivan once more with it dangling lazily from one hand.

"Then we'll just have to make one, won't we? Come on then, let's have your arm. I'll make sure not to cut off anything important."

"You know how I feel about blatant dishonesty, 'Bela," Zevran said as he eyed the dagger, his hesitance more from annoyance than apprehension, "particularly when it concerns someone who has been nothing but an ally to me."

"It's not really lying, per se," said the pirate, shrugging her shoulders, "more a little half-truth. This was most likely Nuncio's dagger - you can say it was from him if you like, it wouldn't be completely untrue. Besides, this is going to do Hawke more good than harm in the long run."

"Fine, fine," Zevran conceded, holding out his arm. "Just not on the hand, if you please."

Isabela nodded, casting a quick glance around the camp to make sure they weren't being watched as she placed the tip of the blade just under the elf's elbow, pressing it firmly into his flesh. With one swift jerk she dragged the dagger's edge down the length of his arm, leaving behind a neat, shallow gash which quickly painted his skin crimson.

"Well then," Zevran said matter-of-factly, observing the wound with impassive ease, "I suppose we should put our plan into motion before I stain my armor."

"I suppose so," Isabela said as she started cleaning the blade with the rags it had been wrapped in. "Don't worry, I'll make sure Fenris doesn't try to murder you just yet."

"A much appreciated offer," Zevran chuckled as he turned towards Hawke to make his way across the camp to her side.

_"Oh, this is just going to be too good."_

Isabela laughed to herself as she began to work at another chest, making sure to angle it so she would have a clear view of the show which was soon to begin.

* * *

Fenris' breath caught sharp in his lungs as he stared at Hawke's hand against his breastplate, entranced by the smooth, alabaster skin which practically glowed against the metal. Despite the thick layers of armor, leather and cloth barring a connection between her fingers and his chest, the elf could feel the faint but unmistakable thrum of her power emanating from her touch. It raced up and down his limbs, sending minute vibrations of energy dancing along the lyrium lines embedded in his flesh. The feel of it was nothing short of intoxicating, even diluted as he knew it was. Tantalizing memories of gentle caresses and a soothing embrace which were uninterrupted by bothersome clothing began flitting through his head, threatening to undo three years' worth of determination in a matter of seconds. The elf's resolve, already stretched thin as it was from their earlier contact, began to waver, and Fenris had to fight to keep his mind in the present. He refused to let this mage play a role in his undoing yet again. The poetic justice would be far more than he could stomach. He needed to find something, anything to focus on other than the woman in front of him or the unsettling comfort she was somehow still able to torture him with after all this time.

It was then he noticed Hawke was clutching something in her fist. Feeling foolish for not having seen or acted on the opportunity sooner, Fenris jumped at the much needed chance to distract himself. With great effort, he managed to tear his eyes from the mage's hand long enough to find the item hidden behind her fingers. He clung to his new finding like a drowning man to flotsam, more than willing to memorize every insignificant detail of the thing if it meant he would finally be able to snap out of this fog.

The object was small and squat in shape, with smooth curves made out of clear red glass which Hawke was continuing to shove into his cuirass. Realizing she meant for him to take whatever the unknown item was from her, the elf made to reach for it at once. He did not know what the thing was, and frankly he did not care. All that mattered was the prospect of finally bringing an end to the incessant pulse of _her_ in his skin, along with their awkward stalemate. The show of eagerness earned Fenris an excruciating pain which shot through him like lightning as soon as he began to move. A stabbing sensation burst from the wound in his shoulder, racing down the length of his arm and branching out onto the beginnings of his chest, setting his nerves on fire as it went. It seemed the adrenaline he'd relied on to carry him through to the end of their most recent scrap had reached the limit of its capabilities.

As agonizing as the feeling was, Fenris gained unexpected relief in its presence. The longer the pain continued to persist, more and more of the tingle Hawke had induced in his skin would dissipate. His head was finally beginning to clear, allowing rational thought to slowly reclaim what had been overwhelmed by the enticing hum of her magic. Not wanting to squander his temporary advantage, Fenris raised the same arm again, gritting his teeth against the throb which coursed through him long enough to grasp the object she offered. Hawke jerked her arm away as soon as he'd taken a hold of the glass, apparently just as enthusiastic as he was to bring an end to their contact.

Once her hand had left his chest, Fenris felt the pulses of energy snuff themselves out entirely, leaving behind only the ache of his mangled shoulder and a cloud of cruel irony which hung palpably in the air between them.

_"The slave who had known nothing but suffering once again balks in the face of attempted compassion, seeking solace in what he wished to escape. How very fitting."_

Hawke shuffled in place, the sound of her feet shifting in the sand enough to perk Fenris' ears and pull him out of his moment of self-loathing to look at her.

"Drink that when you decide you don't want to bleed to death," she said over her shoulder as though indifferent, though he could tell the inflection was forced, "Unless you think my elfroot potions are beneath you as well."

With that she made for the opposite side of the camp, leaving Fenris alone with a growing pang of guilt coiling in the pit of his stomach which he refused to admit he felt. He stared down at the vial clutched in the clawed fingers of his hand, recognizing it now as one of Hawke's healing draughts. The sight of it very nearly made him laugh. Somehow, the woman was still as determined as ever to help him, even when he'd made it clear with less-than-courteous emphasis he wanted nothing of the sort from her.

Granted, had he truly expected anything less? If he'd come to learn one thing about Hawke during his time spent in her company, it had been that she had an irritatingly persistent need to right every wrong she happened upon. She met each crisis presented to her with the same tenacious desire to see it remedied; from helping every mendicant with a case of bad luck in the whole of Kirkwall to acting as mediator between the Viscount and Arishok, as unsuccessful as the latter attempt may have been. It shouldn't come as a surprise to him that she would wish to see to the injury of one of her companions, even if it was one who had been at best aloof and at worst utterly wretched to her for years now.

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, a familiar wave of regret rushing over him like frigid water. He knew all too well that Hawke had never done anything to deserve his callousness - not intentionally in any case. She'd been nothing but an ally from the moment their paths had crossed six years ago, an unexpected source of support in his attempt to hold on to his freedom.

She'd challenged every one of his misgivings about her status as a mage, and proven herself far stronger than he'd ever thought possible. Hawke was no dangerous apostate liable to fall prey to her own temptations, no blood wielding maleficar. Hawke was just that – Hawke: a capable woman with a sarcastic sense of humor, genuine smile and an unyielding loyalty to those she held close to her heart, even if they did not always deserve such devotion.

It had not taken long after they had met for Fenris to begin not only tolerating but enjoying Hawke's company, both during and outside of the missions their hodgepodge group took on. Evenings by the fire in his borrowed home with a glass of wine and pleasant conversation soon came to be a common pastime of theirs, the discourse oftentimes lasting well into the early hours of the morning while the sound of easy laughter filled both the empty mansion and his hardened heart. Before he was even aware it was happening, Fenris had begun to open up to her about his past, sharing everything from his accidental escape from Danarius and ill-fated stay with the Fog Warriors, to the events which had brought him to Kirkwall and everything in between.

Hawke had proven to be a rapt but benign audience for every one of these somber stories, speaking with only genuine concern if she did so at all. She'd never failed to take the truth in stride, showing neither disgust nor unwanted pity at the atrocities he'd both committed and experienced. She always accepted him, flaws and all, without hesitation. Fenris came to cherish the nights when these tales were shared, finding them surprisingly therapeutic. With every one of his stories she heard, the words would come to him with less and less effort, until they ultimately began to fall from his lips as though he were speaking about the weather or any number of other mundane things.

At one point he came to realize this must be what it meant to have a friend, and he'd reveled in the discovery. For the first time in his re-made life, Fenris was content, and it was all because of a mage. The absurdity of this notion was hilarious, and more than once he'd had to hide an amused grin behind a scowl whilst in public for fear of the blood-addled elf noticing and making a show out of it.

He had been happy. If only he'd had the good sense to be satisfied with that and left well enough alone.

He could not be sure how or when the change had taken place between them. He himself had first noticed it in small, trivial ways - the kind which could be perceived as unintentional or misconstrued. Things like a warm smile over the top of an ale flagon, or a lingering glance across a room. He'd brushed them off at first, telling himself the idea of such a possibility was ludicrous, even as he began to return the gestures in kind.

Over time, their interests in one another became less subtle. Fenris, whose composure in battle was normally unshakable, would feel his self-control begin to crack the second an adversary made the slightest move toward Hawke. These moments had the usual result of the poor wretch meeting an untimely end by way of an incensed elf's fist in their chest before they could take a second step. Hawke herself picked up a habit of falling back from her usual place at the front of their party to join him as they traveled, turning a brilliant shade of red as she offered some hurried excuse of wishing to discuss tactics when the others had taken notice of it. Flirtations which grew ever bolder became a common occurrence during their evenings together, and always left Fenris feeling both flustered and elated at the same time.

He would catch himself thinking of Hawke exponentially more with the passing of each day, and in ways which were increasingly carnal in nature. These new fantasies became somewhat of a nuisance, making it impossible for him to look at Hawke while she was leaning over a market stall's display or bending down to pick up a dropped item without feeling the tips of his ears begin to flush. Soon enough, he'd found it necessary to avert his eyes from her as she walked, least the sight prompt a mortifying reaction in him which he could only partially control. He was certain Hawke had caught on to his self-inflicted torment, as with each occurrence she'd looked over her shoulder with a coy smile before continuing on her way, a maddening swagger in her step which screamed of Isabela's interference.

Eventually, after a particularly long day of shifty glances and enduring the sight of the abomination's pathetic attempts at courtship, Fenris could take no more. By sundown he'd made his way to the Hawke estate to pace in her foyer, wearing a hole into an expensive looking rug as he did so. A confused Bodahn and Orana had disappeared behind the entryway into the home's main chamber after his admittedly impolite refusal of their offer to fetch him something to eat or drink in the study, leaving Sandal to watch the spectacle with amusement and a lopsided grin. Fenris had ignored the steward's son, far too wrapped up in his thoughts to care that his last-minute ponderings had an audience. His instincts had howled for him to take advantage of the opportunity Hawke's absence presented to him, insisting he leave with his pride left mostly intact before the inevitable disaster his plan was sure to become came to a head. How he'd convinced himself this fool's errand was a good idea, he was sure he would never know.

It was true Hawke was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most incredible woman Fenris had ever had the pleasure of knowing. It was true she was his confidante and anchor, even if he was nowhere near ready to publicly acknowledge it. It was true, even with his wariness of the unfamiliar emotions she stirred in him, that she was more important to him than anything else in all the rest of Thedas. It was true he would give anything in the world for a chance to be with her. But these things did nothing to remedy the fact that she was and would forever be a mage.

As admirable as Hawke's self-control and lack of a malicious nature were, they did nothing to lessen the magic which still coursed through her veins. In a more normal circumstance this would no longer have been an obstacle for Fenris, seeing as he'd managed to overcome his prejudice and suspicions regarding her long ago. However, his acceptance of what she was did not change the fact that he was quite literally covered from head to foot in brands made of pure lyrium, ones which had the unfortunate tendency to react in negative ways to the presence of magic. It'd been a weakness Danarius had happily taken advantage of during bouts of punishment for assumed transgressions or when he'd simply become bored. Fenris had shuddered at the memory, an image of the magister laughing over him as he retched and convulsed on the floor in agony jumping to the front of his thoughts before he could shove it back into the furthest recesses of his mind.

Years had passed since his flight from the magister, yet Fenris found that the time without his former master's tortures was not enough to lessen the impact a mage's spell or touch had upon his markings. Healings he received from the abomination - which he'd only reluctantly agreed to after hours of Hawke's never-ending fussing and several squabbles which centered around her insistence that he was being foolish - were always far from comfortable. While the former Grey Warden's spells held nowhere near the same level of agony as Danarius' had, there was still a distinct burning sensation throughout each of his lyrium brands the moment the man touched his skin. The longer contact between himself and the mage was sustained and the more powerful the healing magic required, the stronger the pain would become, often leading to Fenris tasting his own blood as he bit great chunks out of the inside of his mouth to avoid showing any outward discomfort. He knew it was likely Hawke's touch, as gentle and accepting as he'd always imagined it to be, would cause a similar reaction, and that fact tormented him to no end.

A small, hopeful part of him had proposed this couldn't be true. This was Hawke, the same woman who, despite the occasional sharpness of her tongue, lacked the capacity to cause anyone or anything undeserved harm. It had insisted the outcomes of interactions with a handful of reprehensible mages proved nothing in regards to the effect she would have on him. It had even gone so far as to suggest that if it was wrong - if there was pain - what he stood to gain would be well worth it. After all, discomfort would be a small price to pay in order to have a woman like Hawke. And so he continued to pace, a battle like no other raging in his own head. Years' worth of experienced logic and common sense waged war against his fledgling desires to see the possibilities this woman held for him, only to cease their combat at the sound of an opening door.

* * *

Realization of where he had allowed his thoughts to wander dawned on Fenris, whose anger at his own weakness quickly rose to push the images back to the far reaches of his mind. He gave his head a violent shake in an attempt to rid himself of the last of the visions, hissing through clenched teeth as his movement reignited the pains in his still-wounded shoulder. The elf glanced down to his arm through narrowed eyes, a groan vibrating in his throat. He flexed his arm expirimentally, only to stop at once for the anguish the simple movement caused. Familiar jolts had begun to shoot along his arm once more, their sensations having only grown stronger in the brief moments of his distraction.

A string of grumbled curses fell from his mouth as the discomfort persisted, slowly transitioning from acute jab to lingering ache. This was no good. The gash ran deep, and had most certainly severed muscle if the growing agony and difficult movement were any indication. It would not do to allow the injury to linger any longer than was absolutely necessary. Hawke had been right to insist on healing him, simple bandages and gauze would not be enough - not if he wished to regain full use of the limb.

Fenris' mouth twisted into a scowl at the realization, his acknowledgement of his need for magical assistance a greater mar to his pride than the lesion itself. The fist of his good arm tightened at his side, reminding him of the glass vial still clutched in his hand. He glanced down at the potion from the corner of his eye, an unexpected sense of gratitude for the mage's infuriating insistence relaxing the edges of his frown the slightest bit. At least there would be no need to debase himself further by beseeching the abomination's - or worse - Hawke's aid.

The elf knew of a small stream which ran no more than a few hundred feet away from the clearing, its cool waters having been a welcome relief for their group during past missions whose importance far outweighed the discomfort presented by a humid summer day. A perfect place for a reticent man to tend to his wounds in privacy. Fenris gave a cursory glance around the remainder of the camp, eager to afford himself as discreet a departure from the group as possible. When he was certain the remaining members of their party were properly distracted – the dwarf focused on a large trunk with an impossible number of locks, Isabela with whatever bawdy topic she had chosen to discuss with the assassin and Hawke by way of her own thoughts – he quickly turned in place to hurry to the edge of the camp. It was a matter of a few quick strides before he was completely hidden from view by thick greenery, the prodding of sharp branches and brambles against his injured arm providing little distraction from the way his stomach had seized at the crestfallen expression he had seen upon the mage's face.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Happy 2013 everyone, I hope you all enjoyed your holidays and New Year's!

I have to say I'm wicked excited to see how much positive feedback TCWAA is getting. I'm still pretty new to actually posting my fanfiction, so I'm more than a little thrilled to see how many people have favorited and followed my story! The reviews I've been getting are all very much appreciated, and have acted as wonderful motivators to help keep me going when I'm hit over the head with a case of writer's block. **Please keep letting me know what you think! **

I figured I would mention (just for clarification) that the Hawke I'm using in this story is pretty much default Marian Hawke with longer, slightly curly hair, similar to Bethany's actually. Also, the staff that Marian uses that I'm referring to in this section is Malcom's Honor, from the first mage item pack.

And so without any further delays, here's chapter 3 of To Conspire With an Antivan, or as I've come to affectionately call it, "Hawke finally gets to take her damn bath".

* * *

To Conspire With an Antivan - Chapter 3

Hawke made her way briskly across the Hightown plaza towards her home, eyes focused on the path in front of her with head held high, refusing to show just how much the sidelong glances and hushed buzzing of the nobles bothered her. A small voice in the back of her head, the last remnants of the skittish girl she had been during her family's time in Lothering, wished she had taken her normal route from the coast through Darktown to the entrance of her estate's cellars. Traveling through Kirkwall's underbelly was neither the safest nor most pleasant option available to her, it reasoned, but it certainly would have helped cut down on the number of gawking strangers who whispered vicious rumors about the mage-turned-champion as she passed.

The slums were dangerous and filled to the brim with the living refuse which comprised it's population of thugs, slavers and con artists, but at least there she could tell the difference between a civilian and someone who posed a legitimate threat. After all, it was far easier to figure out when a drunken member of the coterie intended to sheath his daggers in your ribs than it was to determine which aristocrats had the coin, influence and disdain needed to make an apostate's life unnecessarily difficult. Knowing she would have received a far friendlier greeting - or even a few grateful smiles for her past help from the paupers and refugees who called the sewers home - only served to make the idea of trekking through them all the more appealing.

Hawke snorted at the thought, amused that the rabble of the city would have proven more courteous hosts than any of the supposedly refined blue-bloods who were continuing to take in her presence with a contemptuous air. She hadn't truly expected anything less, seeing as those who counted themselves among Hightown's elite had always been the first to forget any assistance she had provided them- the aftermath of her catastrophic attempt to talk down the Arishok was more than enough proof of that. The district's stuffed shirts had been all too happy to throw adulation at her feet for freeing them from forced conversion to the Qun by way of murdering the Kossith leader, only to balk once they realized they had unknowingly harbored a mage within their midst for months. Granted they were not biased of course - no, not at all. To them magic was an indispensable tool which was perfectly acceptable to wield - so long as those who possessed it either made a prompt return to the Gallows or sequestered themselves with the rest of the population's undesirables once they were finished with saving the city from itself.

Hawke continued to keep a steady pace as she crossed the halfway point of the market, the front door of her family's mansion an inviting sight as she passed by a particularly stout seamstress' stall. She watched from the corner of her eye as the woman stared after her, pointing a thick, bejeweled finger in her direction while she leaned towards a thin wisp of a girl whom Hawke assumed to be her apprentice. It came as only a mild surprise when she heard the tailor's shrill voice shout her disdain, making it perfectly clear to all persons within a fifty foot radius that she was utterly appalled the Chantry would permit such a menace to roam amongst the general populace – and without even a single templar as escort! Hawke sighed as the woman's diatribe continued, painfully aware she could have bypassed the entire marketplace and its patron's misplaced scrutiny if she hadn't been so intent on avoiding Anders on her way home.

The path through Darktown which led to her basement unfortunately also brought her past the front of the former Grey Warden's clinic, making it damn near impossible for her to sneak by without being spotted. No doubt the mage would be perched by his door, waiting to offer her a greeting and a few paltry pleasantries before barraging her with a list of questions the length of his arm regarding the latest copy of his manifesto. Had it been any other day, Hawke would have been more than happy to oblige her friend, seeing as she genuinely enjoyed their visits as well as discussing their oftentimes over lapping opinions on mage rights. Today, however, was the exception to the rule - after a long afternoon of hiking up and down a mountain, fighting off assassins and receiving more than her usual dose of Fenris' chronic hostility, Hawke frankly did not have the energy needed to give feedback on what order she thought his points from chapter five section two should be arranged in. Not to mention she simply did not have the time for one of the man's notoriously verbose conversations if she were to have any hope of enjoying the few hours peace and hot bath she had promised herself before making her way to Lowtown for the night.

_ "Should have thrown a piece of that chocolate cake Orana made into the bargain as well," _she said to herself, the weight of the merchants' and market patrons' eyes on her growing heavier by the second as she reached the estate's portico. After a brief struggle with extracting her key from the pouch at her hip, Hawke was finally able to step into the privacy of her foyer, shutting the door behind her with a snap and effectively drowning out the last of the catty seamstress' complaints.

Her respite did not last long, as not more than a moment after she had entered her home Hawke was put on guard by a thundering clamor which erupted instantaneously from the main chamber of the building. The mage spun on one heel to face the source of the commotion, lowering into a practiced battle stance as she moved to free her father's staff from her back. Her reaction time was quick, but her assailant's faster, made all the more obvious as he picked up his pace to charge, appearing as nothing more than a great blur of tan fur and muscle. The aggressor launched himself at full force, easily toppling her before she succeeded in loosing her weapon from its holster. Hawke was thrown flat on her back like a rag doll, the air in her lungs forced out of her in a single gust as a pair of over-large paws landed in the center of her chest, followed by a wide pink tongue which happily dragged itself up one side of her face.

"Alright, alright!" Hawke gasped, breath knocked out of her, raising her arms to block the mabari's slobbery attempt at a greeting. "You win again, as usual!"

Sampson gave an excited bark at her admittance of defeat, rear end shaking as he wagged his stumpy tail. The dog easily dodged the swatting of his master's hands, planting a last wet lick on her chin before pushing himself off of her.

"And here I thought I might actually catch you off your guard using the front door," Hawke said, wiping the spittle from her face with her sleeve as she sat up. "You're just too clever to trick, aren't you boy?"

The mabari gave a proud _wuff_ at her question before taking the few steps needed to close the distance separating them, shoving his nose into her side to sniff at her robes. Hawke placed a hand on the dog's wide shoulders, using him as leverage to bring herself off of the floor and clumsily to her feet.

"Do you think next time you can do me a favor and wait for me to get this thing off my back before you run me over?" she asked with a grimace, one hand resting on the animal's head as she gestured to the gilded stave between her shoulder blades. "Not that I don't appreciate your enthusiasm, of course. It's just a bit uncomfortable having your spine shoved into a statuette of a naked lady by a bloody great war hound's feet."

Sampson gave what Hawke made out to be an apologetic whimper before nuzzling his snout into the palm of her hand, looking up at her with wide brown eyes she was certain could have melted the heart of the Archdemon itself.

"Come off it, you. It's not like you're in trouble. Save your best material for when you and Sandal decide to make another mess like what you did to the pantry last week, otherwise I may just become immune."

The dog barked once before sitting back on his haunches and raising a thick brow, his head cocked to one side.

"Oh fine, you're right. That'll never happen. Maker knows you really are too damn adorable for your own good. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd started letting it go to your head."

Sampson snorted before standing to turn himself towards the main chamber, trotting back to flop himself down onto the rug in front of the mantel now that he had finished with their customary welcome. Hawke chuckled at the dog's antics as she followed him into the room, a familiar voice floating towards her from behind a side door which led to the servant's quarters and the estate's small garden.

" - straight back to our room for a wash after we bring these to the kitchen, my boy. We don't need to be making work for Orana now, do we?"

"Enchantment!" another voice said happily as the door opened, revealing two thick-set dwarves who were each holding baskets close to overflowing with freshly picked vegetables. Bodahn was smiling warmly at Sandal who was so completely covered in dirt and grime Hawke couldn't be sure where the filth ended and the boy began. Sampson lifted his head from his paws at the sound of the young man's voice, jumping to his feet with a happy bark at the sight of them in the doorway.

"Doggy!" Sandal shouted, throwing his hands in the air and bolting towards the mabari, a cascade of tomatoes, carrots and heads of lettuce falling to the floor in his wake.

"Sandal, no!" Bodahn cried in exasperation, watching horror-struck as he and the dog began an impromptu game of chase, a trail of mud falling from the boy's clothing to outline their path from one corner of the room to the other. The older man dropped his own basket of produce to the ground as he bustled after the blond dwarf, who was far too engrossed in his attempts to jump on Sampson's back to take any notice of his father. Hawke stood in the middle of the chaos, her mouth clamped shut in a thin line as she tried her best not to laugh at the ridiculous sight of Bodahn dodging piles of muck and tripping over a large eggplant in his effort to take hold of his son.

The spectacle was entertaining to say the least, though Hawke could tell Bodahn was at a disadvantage if the violent shade of red his face had turned and the way he was clutching at his chest after a few minutes' passing were any indication. Deciding it would be best to bring a stop to the pandemonium before her steward had a heart attack in her parlor, the mage shoved two fingers into her mouth to give a short, sharp whistle which easily caught the attention of her hound despite his preoccupation. Sampson changed course abruptly, sliding on the smooth tiled floor and nearly overturning her writing desk in his eagerness to reach her. He skidded to an unusually graceful stop in front of her, ears perked and tail thumping on the floor as he eyed a piece of dried jerky she had produced from a pocket of her robes. Hawke shook her head with a short laugh as she tossed the meat to the mabari, who caught it in his jaws just as Sandal slammed into him at a full run, unable to slow himself in time. The momentum of the collision sent both the boy and the dog careening into her, knocking the mage off of her feet and onto the ground for a second time.

"I'm terribly sorry about all this mess, messere!" Bodahn said hurriedly, huffing to catch his breath as he pulled Sandal and Sampson from the tangle of limbs and off of Hawke, "The boy's been most excitable today. Oh dear me, your clothes!"

Hawke struggled once again to her feet, grasping Bodahn's extended hand to help hoist herself off of the floor. Her robes, already caked in dust and sand from the coast, were now also covered in several large splotches of dark mud which gave off the pungent odor of plant fertilizer.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing I'm about to take a bath, isn't it?"

"I'll fill the tub for you straight away," Bodahn said, rushing to take hold of Sandal's arm to prevent him from wandering off. "I'll be up with the water just as soon as I get the boy settled. Wouldn't want him going into the study and staining the carpet while my back's turned."

"That's fine, Bodahn, really. I can handle it myself," Hawke said with a wave of her hand, picking up the hem of her robes as she made for the foot of the staircase so as not to drag any more muck across the floor. "It looks like Sampson could use a good soak when you have a moment though, if you don't mind."

The mabari gave a low whine past the piece of jerky still hanging out of one side of his mouth, pinning his ears against his head and shooting his master what could only be described as a betrayed glower. Without a second glance he turned tail and fled, barreling through the door the dwarves had come through earlier to reveal a muddy imprint of where Sandal had fallen against his back before disappearing down the hall.

"Of course, messere, Sandal and I will see to it at once. Don't you worry about the mess, we'll be sure to take care of all this before Orana gets back from the market. Poor girl had just finished scrubbing the floors - we wouldn't want her to see them like this already, now would we?" Bodahn said, his question directed at Sandal as he moved to steer him towards the servant's quarters. The boy hesitated to follow his father's lead, remaining rooted to the spot with brows knitted together over a troubled frown as he slowly looked about the room, appearing as though he was just then coming to realize the extent of the havoc he had wrought.

"I'm sorry, Lady," he said eventually, eyes downcast and focused on his dirt-stained fingers after throwing a sheepish glance in Hawke's direction.

"It's alright, Sandal," she said gently, offering him a small smile, "Maker knows this place is dull as dishwater most days. It's nice to have a little excitement every now and again, don't you think?"

"Enchantment!"

Bodahn beamed at Hawke as he began a second attempt to usher the boy out of the room, taking special care to lead him around the scattered produce littering the ground as they went.

By the time Hawke had turned and climbed the stairs to the second floor landing the sound of the older dwarf's patient lecturing had faded away to nothing, leaving the home in an eerie silence punctuated only by the sound of her shoes tapping against the floor. She reached the door to her bedchamber in a matter of a few long strides, the groaning protests of its hinges as she opened it reverberating throughout the empty mansion and sending a shiver down her spine. Hawke wasted no time stepping into the room, its smaller space and plush carpet a welcoming contrast to the main hall's cold stonework and imposing size. A low fire had been banked to the back of the mantel's hearth, its flames bathing the walls and furniture in a flickering amber glow. The mage paused for a moment to soak in the warmth before making her way around the room, closing the chamber door and ensuring all the window dressings were properly fastened as she went. Once certain she had eliminated the risk of being spotted in her unmentionables by any prying eyes of her neighbors and after setting her staff aside, Hawke made quick work of peeling herself out of her robes, tossing each soiled layer into a pile by her doorway to be brought downstairs with the rest of the wash.

Stripped down to naught but what the Maker gave her, Hawke crossed to the farthest corner of the chamber, ducking behind a thin privacy screen which concealed an empty wash tub and stand from the rest of the room. The mage sat on the rim of the porcelain basin, blowing a loose strand of black hair out of her eyes as she began to conjure water into the vessel. Once filled, a single well placed fire spell was enough to warm the whole of the tub, turning the bath into an inviting pool of steaming water in a matter of seconds. Hawke hissed as she slipped both of her feet into the basin, the heat sending goosebumps up the length of her legs and torso as she slowly lowered herself into its depths. She gave a contented sigh as she leaned back to rest her head against the vessel's edge, all the tension her muscles had carried for the better part of a day melting away as the water lapped at her skin.

This was her bliss, pure and simple - a short length of time where she could finally allow herself to relax, even if just for a few fleeting hours. For once there were no contracts to fulfill, no highbrow nobles glaring down their noses at her, no slavers, demons or any number of other nasty things trying to kill her or her friends, and (quite possibly best of all) no Meredith and Orsino squabbling in her ear like an old married couple. In fact, she thought with a slight pang, the only thing this otherwise perfectly serene moment was missing was a certain white-haired elf for her to share it with.

Hawke gave a shudder which had nothing to do with the sweltering temperature of the bath, her mind straying to dangerous places behind closed eyes before she could stop herself as she sank deeper below the surface of the water.

_ There was a lithe, firm body resting behind her, its owner's arms enveloping hers as they pulled her flush against his chest. Calloused fingers made soft by the water rubbed circles into the knuckles of her hands, tracing the lines of old scars with a firm but gentle touch. The scent of dry wine and polished leather surrounded her, filling the air with an aroma she would forever associate with long nights spent in pleasant company and an intimate embrace which had proven surprisingly tender. A breath of air stirred the hair at her temples, sending a pleasant jolt down the length of her spine as a deep voice began whispering in a beautiful, foreign tongue - murmured words she knew he would not yet have the courage to say in a dialect she understood. His hands moved from her own up the length of her arms, kneading the taut muscles until she felt herself turn to putty in his grasp. Once his ministrations reached the top of her shoulders, the long strands of her hair were slowly pulled together, gathered and placed in such a way that it left one side of her pale neck bare and vulnerable. Warm lips gladly took advantage, drawing a long, languorous line from the dip of her collar bone to the spot of sensitive flesh just below her ear. Her breath caught audibly in her lungs as his tongue darted out to lave her skin. Her reaction pulled a rumbling laugh from deep within the man's chest, its vibrations reaching out to race down her spine to the tips of her toes. His right hand began to move again, sliding back down her arm and across to the center of her torso in one smooth motion. His fingers traced lines up and down, coming teasingly closer and closer to the underside of her breasts with every pass. Hawke's head fell limp against his shoulder, a quiet moan escaping her mouth as she fought the urge to take hold of the limb and place it where she most wanted him to touch. Another chuckle fell from his lips at her frustration, this one rustling the dark hairs at the nape of her neck. His hand, which had come to rest at her navel, glided over her skin, though not in its expected course to the center of her chest. Instead it changed its path entirely, causing Hawke to take in a sharp gasp as it traveled a deliberate line through the water and towards the heat of her center, his middle finger finding the first tufts of coarse hair when - _

A blinding blue light tore itself through the forefront of her thoughts, dispersing her apparition and replacing it with an entirely different image of Fenris, his lyrium veins ablaze as a sneer twisted the corners of his mouth and wrinkled the edges of his nose. In the span of a single instant her mind had transported her back to the damned camp along the Wounded Coast, the memories of their earlier confrontation still fresh enough that she swore she could smell the salt in the air and feel the stab of the warrior's gauntlets as he held her hand in an iron-clad grip.

_ "I said no,"_ she heard him growl, his rejection echoing through her head and trampling all of which remained of the magnificent illusion she had constructed for herself.

Hawke frowned as she opened her eyes, silently berating herself for her foolishness as she pulled her wandering fingers back from the joint of her hip. Just what in the name of Andraste's great flaming arse had she thought she was doing, anyway?

_ "Nothing," _a voice in the back of her head said in irritation, _"that's the problem, isn't it? You weren't thinking at all, you dolt."_

The mage groaned, pressing her elbows into her knees as she ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. She really was an idiot, wasn't she? She needed to move on, knew it was high time she stopped acting like a heartsick girl hoping for a second chance and accepted the fact that Fenris felt nothing for her, yet here she was letting herself daydream about him. Forgetting about their night together was difficult enough as it was, she scolded herself, and lingering over asinine fantasies all for the sake of a good wank would do nothing but lengthen the already painful process.

_"Stupid, so very stupid,_" Hawke grumbled, throwing herself back against the edge of the basin and sending a wave of water sloshing over the brim. Her eyes screwed themselves shut as she pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation, her anger at fouling her perfectly content mood with thoughts of _him_ enough to ensure her mind would not roam in such directions again – or at least for the remainder of the afternoon.

After several long minutes of wallowing in self-disgust, Hawke felt herself finally begin to relax, the first tentative signs of sleep tugging at the edges of her mind. With several hours left before she was to meet her friends for the evening, she let herself sink lower into the still-hot bathwater with a grin, content to enjoy her luxury for just a little while more. It was not long before her eyes drifted shut, her mind slipping free of the waking world to wander the incorporeal planes of the Fade once more, flashes of white hair and familiar green eyes forever playing on the edge of her vision.

* * *

"Well, if I had known this is how you were planning on spending the rest of your day I would have asked if I could join you."

Hawke jolted forward, pulled roughly from sleep by the sudden voice. She floundered in the chilled water, churning its surface as she tried in vain to hide her nakedness by yanking her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, only to have her fumblings met by a hearty laugh from the intruder.

"Oh please, Hawke, it's not like I haven't seen the goods before. You can't make a habit of skinny dipping with someone and expect them not to take a peek every now and then."

Hawke glanced to her right, a sense of piqued relief rushing over her as she took in the sight of Isabela perched on the lip of the tub, one leg draped nonchalantly over the other, an amused smirk curling her mouth.

"Maker's breath, 'Bela, have you never heard of knocking?"

"I did, sweet thing, but a certain someone was too busy napping to take any notice," the woman said with a shrug as she stood, stretching her arms above her head so her bust strained against the binding of her corset. "Now hurry it up, would you? Everyone's been waiting for you to grace us with your presence for ages. Poor Merrill's worked herself into a tizzy thinking you got yourself killed on the way to the pub."

"Wait, what?"

Hawke scrambled to lean herself out of the basin to peer around the screen at the grandfather clock on the opposite side of the room. Her mouth fell open as she realized the time, caught between disbelief and mounting annoyance; she'd not only spent the entirety of the first afternoon she'd had to herself in weeks asleep in a tub, but she was also an hour and half late in meeting her friends at the Hanged Man.

"Damn it! Give me five minutes!"

Hawke threw a hand out to grab an untouched bar of soap from the wash stand, rushing to sink her head under the bath water for the first time. Far too preoccupied with berating herself, she failed to notice Isabela slink behind the partition and towards her armoire as well as the devilish grin the pirate hid from her view. She hurriedly worked the soap into a frothy lather, raking it through her sodden hair with fingers which didn't pause for painful tangles. With her scalp still crying out in indignation at the roughness of the attentions it had received, Hawke began scrubbing at her skin with a wash rag collected from the same bathstand, quickly covering herself in a thin layer of foam before submerging once more to rinse it away. No sooner had she raised her head from the water than she was clambering out of the basin to snatch up a towel, drying herself off and ruffling her hair into a renewed mess as she stumbled out from behind the privacy screen.

"Here, put these on," Isabela said, tossing Hawke a set of small clothes, breast band and pair of cotton breeches before turning back to the dresser, furrowing her brow in frustration as she returned to rifling through her drawers, "Do _all_ of your blouses look like they could have come from a cloistered sister's closet?"

"Just the ones that haven't been ripped to shreds or stained with blood."

"Oooh! Hawke, you've been holding out on me!" Isabela cooed a moment later, pulling the mage's attention from the laces of her trousers with a flash of something red she had wrenched out of the deepest recesses of the bureau. The pirate spun around with a dramatic flourish to reveal a low-cut silk tunic clutched in her fingers, its fabric dyed a brilliant shade of scarlet, golden stitching glowing in the low firelight.

"Oh, that thing," Hawke said with a grimace, glaring at the garment as if it might grow fangs and bite her. "The Comtess de Launcet gave it to me after we helped that idiot son of hers sneak away from the Circle a few months back."

"And why in the bloody Void haven't I seen you wear it? It's gorgeous!"

"It's a bit revealing, don't you think? It reminds me of something one of the girls from the Rose might wear on their day off."

"Nonsense, you should at least try it on! Showing a little skin for once isn't going to kill you. It might even get you a free drink or two," Isabela said insistently, crossing the space between them to yank the tunic over her head before she had a chance to protest. Hawke wriggled in place for a few moments, fighting to bring her hands up and through the sleeves of the tight-fitting shirt while throwing several grumbled curses about being treated like a mannequin in the pirate's direction. With the top finally in place Isabela spun the mage around, beaming at their reflection in a floor length mirror which rested in the corner of the room.

"What did I tell you? It looks fantastic!"

"I guess it looks – nice," Hawke said reluctantly as she cast herself in a critical eye, surprised to find she liked the way the fabric clung to her skin and accentuated her curves. "But do you really think it's necessary? We're just going to play cards, not seduce a politician."

"Oh will you stop worrying and live a little, Hawke?" Isabela said with a roll of her eyes, turning towards a nightstand to rummage through an old jewelry box. "I swear you can be more of a prude than Aveline some days. Now quit dawdling and tell me where you keep your damn hair ribbons, you look like a rat's made a nest on top of your head."

The mage snorted as she joined her friend, opening a small compartment in the box to reveal several colorful strips of satin.

"Always such a charmer, 'Bela."

"Didn't you have a red one at some point?" Isabela asked, a puzzled look crossing her face as she pawed through the ribbons, "I feel like I've seen you wear it before."

"I did, but it went missing ages ago. I keep forgetting to pick up a new one when I pass through the market."

"Gold it is, then. At least it'll match the stitching," the pirate said, pulling the fabric from the box and forcing Hawke onto the edge of her bed in one fluid movement. No sooner had the mage's rear end hit the mattress than her friend had begun attacking the knots of her hair, showing no mercy as she tugged through it with a comb procured from Maker only knew where. Once the majority of the gnarls and snags had been removed and well after Hawke was convinced she would never quite regain all the feeling in her scalp, Isabela quickly threw the tresses into a simple but elegant braid, using the ribbon to tie off the end.

"Now, don't you look pretty as a painting?" she asked with a warm smile, placing her hands on her hips as she admired the results of her handiwork. "You'll be turning heads tonight, Sweetness, that's for sure."

"If you say so, 'Bela," Hawke sighed, though she could not help but give her own small grin as she stood from the bed to collect her boots and move towards the exit. "Let's get going. I'm late enough as it is and I want to get there before everyone's too drunk to win any of my coin."

"Hawke, if our game last week was any proof, we'd all have to be passed out stone cold under the table before you needed to worry about that."

Isabela gave a small shriek of laughter, easily dodging both her friend's light-hearted shoves and thrown shoe as they stumbled past the chamber door, down the stairs, and out into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I'm really sorry its taken me so long to update! Work has started to take up even more of my day than before, and its been hell trying to squeeze in any time for writing, let alone breathing. It didn't help that this chapter is mostly banter between characters, and done completely from Fenris' POV, both of which I tend to have a more difficult time with. I must have started, deleted, and restarted this section four separate times before I finally found a beginning that I liked. This chapter is a bit shorter than normal, and again, I'm sorry for that. I originally wasn't going to post until I had finished with Hawke's POV of this situation, but decided that you all had waited long enough.

In this section, I've basically bastardized the Italian language in order to come up with some Antivan phrases. I've put a translation of what Zev says at the very bottom of the chapter.

Anyway, thank you again for all the favorites, follows, and especially reviews! Hearing what you guys think makes slogging through so much more bearable! Please keep at it!

But for now, here's chapter 4! Until next time, everyone! :)

* * *

To Conspire With an Antivan - Chapter 4

Fenris sat in his usual place at the table in Varric's suite, dark brows pulled together in feigned concentration as he stared at the cards held firmly in his grasp, only partially aware of the inane conversations surrounding him on all sides. His free hand closed around his mug's handle as he raised it to his lips, drawing deeply from the foul tasting bilge water the Hanged Man passed off as ale in a hopeless attempt to distract himself from the gnawing sense of unease which had taken up residence in the back of his mind. Emerald eyes shot to the battered clock resting above the fireplace yet again as he choked down his mouthful of the god awful brew, scowling in frustration and mounting apprehension as he watched the small hand tick ever closer to the tenth hour of the night.

"Hey, Broody, are you in this round or not? It's been your turn to raise for the past ten minutes!" Varric called out, thumping his fist against the top of the table to catch the man's attention and rattling the scattered glasses covering its surface in the process. Fenris gave a slight start at the abrupt commotion before snapping himself out of his distracted thoughts, rushing to tear his focus from the timepiece on the wall and turning back to the other members of their group as he molded his face into a carefully blank expression.

"Oh come on now, elf, not you too!" Varric rebuked in exasperation as he slumped against the arm of his chair, easily seeing through the warrior's valiant effort to seem indifferent as their gazes met, "By the Ancestors, am I the only one here not panicking over Hawke being a little late? You do realize you're all working yourselves up over nothing, right?"

"I would hardly call an infallibly punctual woman being two hours overdue 'nothing', dwarf," he barked out of reflex, realizing two seconds too late that his irritated retort had also been an indirect admittance of his concern for the missing mage, a fact which was unfortunately not lost on the excessively observant Varric. The rouge's eyes brightened in interest at his comrade's accidental revelation, meeting the elf's glowering with a knowing look before returning his gaze to his own flagon of ale, the faintest hint of a smug grin making the corner of his mouth curve around the brim of the mug as he drank. Fenris felt his temper flare at the sight of it, thoroughly cursing the perceptive dwarf as well as his own idiocy as he glanced over his hand of cards, too riled to bothering taking notice of their rank or suit. He hastily tossed a silver into the small pile of coin in the center of the table, eager for the chance to move the game along in the hopes it would be enough of a distraction to prevent anyone else from recognizing his unintentional confession for what it was.

"Fenris does make a good point, Varric," Sebastian asserted in a bothered tone, a small frown drawing faint lines across his forehead as he pushed a few coins of his own towards the pot, "I've never known Hawke to be late for anything, least of all a game of Diamondback. This is all more than a bit disconcerting if you ask me."

"You don't think something's happened to her, do you Sebastian?" the witch asked nervously, her customary wide-eyed stare growing impossibly larger as her fingers jumped to the frayed hem of her scarf to worry its tattered edges, "Oh, I knew we shouldn't have let Isabela go off looking for her on her own, what if they're both in trouble now? This is just terrible!"

"Daisy, don't waste your time listening to Choir Boy," Varric said in a calming voice, a wide hand patting the Dalish girl on the forearm while throwing the ex-prince a chastising glare when she wasn't looking, "It's like I told you earlier. There's no reason for us to rouse the guard and send out a search party when Hawke probably just fell asleep face first in a pile of paperwork. Or Blondie's manifesto."

"I'm sitting right here, you know," the abomination groused, pausing mid sip to scowl at the dwarf, "I think you'd find it fairly informative, Varric, If you'd just -"

"Not even with a knife to my throat and a razor to my chest hair, friend. I'm no glutton for punishment," he interjected, chuckling over the mage's indignant sputtering before turning back to the still-fretting girl and cuffing her gently on the chin, "Now enough with all the worrying, alright? For me? All you're going to do is make yourself sick at this rate, and Norah'll make my life hell if we give her another mess to clean. I promise, Rivaini's got it more than under control."

"I rather have to agree with Varric, my dear - Merrill, yes? The chances of our friends running into any real danger are doubtful at best," an exotically accented voice chimed in, its mere reappearance enough to set Fenris' blood boiling while his hands automatically balled themselves into tight fists. The elf slowly looked up from the dregs of his tankard, aware and uncaring of the disgust which twisted his features as he absorbed the infuriating sight of the Antivan seated before him. Zevran was lounging contentedly against one side of his chair, legs outstretched and resting over the top of its armrest as he swirled a tumbler of dark brown liquor in one hand, the same egotistical smirk he had worn earlier in the day while leering at Hawke testing the strength of Fenris' already limited patience.

It had been much to the warrior's dismay and displeasure that the assassin had met little to no resistance in assimilating into their party, Isabela's enthusiastic endorsement and his suave smile having made short work of any initial reluctance the others may have felt towards him. The former Crow had then effortlessly wormed his way into their good graces by way of a few well placed and shamelessly honeyed words, his offer to cover the first round of drinks for the evening the final push needed to shift their opinions of him firmly in his favor. Even Sebastian had eventually fallen victim to the Antivan's charms, something which had come as no less than a frank shock, considering how severely Zevran's former occupation clashed with the devout Andrastian's beliefs as well as personal experiences with mercenaries.

A low grumble reverberated in Fenris' throat as he drank again from his flagon. Halfwits, the whole lot of them. Was he honestly the only one in Hawke's melange of companions competent enough to see the repugnant man for what he was? The elf continued to watch in contempt as the Antivan leaned forward, taking an unhurried slip from his drink and smacking his lips together in apparent appreciation of the taste before casually setting it down on top of his cards.

" And even if they had, I can guarantee you that there is no need to worry yourself over their safety," he said to the blood mage in his standard over-confident air, "I have seen for myself what happens to those who make the mistake of crossing blades with Bela more times than I will ever be able to recall, and I am sure everyone here has witnessed what your Hawke is capable of when threatened. Believe me when I say I feel nothing but remorse for any fool mad enough to raise arms against either of them."

"You can say that again," the abomination proclaimed, snorting in agreement, "Isabela's been sending a constant stream of broken noses and bruised egos to my clinic since the day she blew into Kirkwall, and don't even get me started on the mess Hawke left behind last week when those coterie bastards tried to jump her in an ally. Some of the walls down there are still stained red."

"Their skill in a fight does nothing to change the fact that Hawke is still missing," Fenris spit, his waxing anxiety over the mage's absence and irritation at the assassin's presence finally besting the tenuous constraint he'd struggled and already failed to maintain over his tongue, "and neither would it help if she were attacked while alone and outnumbered."

"You give the woman far too little credit, my pessimistic friend. This is the Champion of Kirkwall you're talking about after all. Do you truly have such little faith in her abilities?" the Antivan tsked with a slow shake of his head, unfazed by the ire which flashed in Fenris' expression at his chiding tone.

"Possession of a title does not make someone invincible, Crow," he fumed as a malicious voice inside of his head goaded him to reach across the table and throttle the man, "Surly you've murdered enough dignitaries in your time to be aware of that."

"Such unwarranted hostility!" Zevran laughed, his eyes glinting with unabashed amusement despite the tense glances shared amongst the others in their party, "It seems my initial assumptions were correct, your armor matches your personality perfectly! As sharp and cold on the inside as you are out, are you not?"

Fenris felt the ceramic of his mug begin to protest in his grip as he fought and very nearly failed to keep the last threads of his self-control intact, a deep growl escaping his lips as he snarled in response to the loathsome assassin's ribbing. The cad remained as unperturbed as ever in the face of the man's growing rage, returning the dangerous look he received with yet another wink which had the warrior seeing red.

"What I believe Fenris was trying to say," Sebastian hastily proposed, rushing to alleviate the undeniable risk of an altercation between the two elves, "is that the chance of being overwhelmed while on your own is a legitimate threat for anyone, even for someone as proficient in combat as Hawke."

"Precisely," Fenris sneered, his eyes hardly more than slits as he glowered at the assassin, who responded by giving a noncommittal shrug before picking up his glass to toss back the remainder of its contents.

"That's _it!_ I can't stand it any longer!" Merrill cried, her abrupt shout making most everyone seated around the table jump, "If Hawke needs help we certainly aren't doing her any favors sitting her twiddling our thumbs! It's about time we actually _did_ something!"

"Daisy," Varric started, completely taken aback by the normally meek elf's suddenly fierce determination, "in all honesty, I really don't think-"

"We've stalled long enough, Varric!" she insisted, cutting off the dwarf with a scathing look, "Come with me or don't, but I can't sit here another minute not knowing if she and Isabela are alright, the waiting is driving me mad!"

Fenris stared at the blood mage in bewilderment as a strained hush fell over the room, all traces of his animosity for the Antivan temporarily overtaken by his surprise at the elf's uncharacteristically bold behavior. She met his gaze with an unapologetic glare as she looked to each of the men in turn, her chest heaving and nostrils flared as though daring them to attempt to change her mind, something the warrior had no intention of doing. In spite of his fervent dislike of the witch, and as loath to believing the concept as he was, Fenris agreed whole-heartedly with her insistence. Two hours worth of incessant uncertainty and dread over Hawke's whereabouts were more than enough for a lifetime, let alone a single evening. It was high time they started looking for the damned mage themselves.

"Alright Daisy, ok. You win," Varric broke the silence with a resigned sigh, abandoning his earlier tactics of placation for the girl, "Just give Hawke and Rivaini five more minutes. If they still haven't shown up by then, Bianca, the boys and I'll help you tear apart Kirkwall to find them both if that's really what you want."

"You will?" she asked hopefully as a wide smile spread over her face, her anger disappearing at a frighteningly fast rate.

"'Course we will, _won't_ _we _boys?" he asked the men pointedly, all of whom mumbled a hasty agreement, "I'm not about to let you go wandering around back allies by yourself in the middle of the night, we'd just end up having to look for you too."

"So, a manhunt it shall be! How invigorating!" Zevran proclaimed in excitement as he turned to face Merrill, "But if we are to continue playing our game until it is time to leave, might I offer you a word of advice, my dear? The way you hold your cards, you tilt them slightly to the left. You may wish to hold them up a bit more, unless it is your intention to allow others to see them. I am quite sure the healer has already been attempting to do so all night."

"I most certainly have not!" the abomination argued, though the guilty look he wore suggested otherwise.

"Oh, I doubt it really matters," she shrugged, frowning down at the thick pieces of paper clutched unevenly in her thin fingers, "I don't think I'm doing very well this round anyway. None of my cards have any numbers on them, just a bunch of men with swords in silly hats and a couple with a big letter 'A'."

"And I believe that's my cue to fold," Varric announced as he pushed his cards towards the center of the table, his gesture hurriedly copied by the rest of the men.

"Wait, but I – Didn't that -" she stammered, looking from one person to the next in complete confusion before throwing her hand to the tabletop in a huff, "Oh by the Dread Wolf, I don't know why I even bother! I'll never be able to figure this blasted game out!"

"Look on the bright side, Merrill," Sebastian offered with a grin as Varric slid the smaller-than-average pile of winnings towards the elf, "You've just made more coin in one round than I've seen Hawke win in four years."

"Or ever," Varric added with a chortle, "I swear, with all the coin that girl's lost at this game she could have bought the Viscount's keep three times over by now. You'd think she'd learn eventually."

"I suppose I could always stop playing if you're feeling guilty about lining your pockets with my coin, Varric," a new voice proposed from the entrance of the suite, its sound perking Fenris' ears and hitting him with an enormous wave of relief as well as a stab of indignation for the disquiet its owner had unwittingly tormented him with.

"Hawke!" the witch cried, knocking her chair onto the floor in her rush to reach the mage, "Oh thank the Creators, you're alright!"

"I told you she thought you were dead," Isabela's voice laughed as Fenris turned towards them in his seat to be presented with the most absurd sight he had seen in some time. The malificar had apparently thrown herself at Hawke in an overly enthusiastic greeting, and now clung to the woman's front like a squirrel to the side of a tree as she tittered on endlessly about how scared she had been for her safety. Hawke, looking staggered and more than a bit rattled by her friend's grandiose showing of concern for her late arrival, peered back and forth from the top of the elf's dark head to Isabela, awkwardly patting the Dalish girl on the shoulder as she silently begged for the pirate's assistance.

"Come on now, Kitten, give the girl a chance to breathe," the woman coaxed, visibly struggling to suppress a wide smirk, "You don't want to strangle her after I went through all the trouble of tracking her down now, do you?"

"No, not at all! That would be terrible!" the witch exclaimed in horror as she hastened to disentangle herself from around the mage's waist, "I'm sorry, Lethallan, I was just so worried! It's wonderful to see that you're alright."

"It's fine, Merrill," Hawke reassured her with a small smile, wincing slightly despite herself as she ran a hand along tender ribs where the blood mage's grip had been tightest, "No lasting damage done in any case."

"Oh my, and don't you look pretty tonight, too!" the elf trilled, her hands clapping together as she stepped back and to one side, her body no longer blocking the woman from the rest of those seated in the room.

No sooner had the witch moved than Fenris felt his eyes widen of their own accord and his heart stutter through its next several beats, his first uninhibited glimpse of Hawke catching him completely off guard and utterly unprepared. The man could do little more than gape as any and all sense of good judgment he possessed in regards to the woman standing before him was scattered like fallen leaves to the wind, its defeat found in the pairing of her elegantly soft features with a set of flattering cotton breeches and a comely silk tunic. For a few brief, gloriously sinful moments, all reservations and unwavering determination were lost as he secretly admired the way the crimson blouse hugged her gentle curves like a well-fitting glove, the image instantly stirring up long repressed but oh-so-alluring memories of the body he knew was concealed beneath its delicate fabric. Unbidden recollections flashed to the forefront of his mind as his gaze rose to the golden embroidery which decorated garment's wide collar, it's line begging for his attention as it plunged tastefully to fall and rest just between the tops of her breasts. A torturous jolt of desire shot throughout his body as he recalled how he had once been privileged enough to draw kisses along its very path, how the feel alone of her skin had nearly made him come undone, made his markings sing and -

_"No! No no no no! Venhedis man, control yourself! Enough of this lunacy!" _a venomous voice screamed in Fenris' ear, its startling materialization shaking him free from his heady daze and dragging him back to the present. Potent anger rose like molten lead in the elf's chest, its appearance swiftly drowning out and providing an escape from his traitorous reminiscences as he thoroughly damned himself for his increasing lapse of discipline. Twice in one day, he seethed, tearing his view away from the mage's odiously distracting clothing and seeking refuge from their enticement in the burn of sour ale. Twice in one Maker-forsaken day he had allowed his thoughts to wander down a decidedly hazardous trail, the temptation of Hawke's magic and a blighted _shirt_ of all things too much for his strained willpower to endure. The muscles in Fenris' neck and jaw tightened into thick cords as he attempted to conceal the frustrated snarl threatening to contort his features into an ugly grimace. A simple piece of fabric should not be able to drive him to such obvious idiocy.

The idea that he could be so easily overcome was pathetic and absolutely reprehensible. He knew better than this. Permitting himself to relive these and any other fond memories he had of the mage was reckless. They were dangerous, foolish. Brief instances of nothing more than selfish indulgences which never failed to deepen the already numerous cracks in the mortar of the walls he had built to keep her out. If he were to continue on like this, turning a blind eye to his unacknowledged desire to cling to the shadows of what they had once had and the weakness it provoked in him, it would only be a matter of time before those same barricades crumbled to dust at his feet. Should that happen, should all traces of the carefully maintained distance he had forced between them be abandoned, the results would lead to nothing short of a catastrophic disaster for himself and unavoidable pain for Hawke. Was her well-being truly worth so little to him that he would risk harming her further all for the sake of his own fleeting gratification?

An anguished pang cut like ice through the heat of Fenris' choler to cool and replace his irritation with an undeniable shame, the thought that he could consider doing such a thing for even a moment making his stomach clench into knots. No. No it was not. He had done and would continue to do enough damage as it was. He would not be so cruel as to intentionally open her old wounds, most of which he knew had still yet to properly heal, only to inevitably end up rubbing salt into them.

"Not that you don't normally, of course. I think your robes are lovely," the witch blathered on absentmindedly, the sound of her tittering as she returned to right her chair before lowering herself into it enough to banish the last of Fenris' distracted thoughts, "they remind me of the old quilts my clan would line the bottom of our aravels with in the winter."

"Ah - thanks Merrill. I think," Hawke said with slight unease, one of her hands reaching up to weave its fingers into the ends of her braided hair while Isabela snorted into a clenched fist behind her. A light blush bloomed across the mage's cheeks as she began to notice the gawking her unconventional choice of clothing had inspired in her other friends, the apprehension she wore in her expression making just how uncomfortable she felt under their scrutiny plainly apparent.

The dwarf's and Chantry brother's responses were admittedly innocent enough. Varric met the sight with a quizzically arched brow before shooting an inquiring glance over Hawke's shoulder towards Isabela, who gave a too-cheerful smile as her only response to his questioning gaze. Rather than press the pirate for an explanation which he was no doubt itching to receive, the man simply sighed as he shook his head with a small chuckle before turning to speak to the blood mage, a faint "What did I tell you, Daisy?" reaching Fenris' ears from their side of the table. Sebastian had taken all of one look at the woman before his entire face had flushed a beetroot red, his eyes darting away to busy himself with collecting and shuffling the deck of cards for the next round of their game while pointedly avoiding the chance of glimpsing the mage a second time.

The abomination on the other hand had seemingly lost the ability to find interest in anything _but_ Hawke, his face fixed in a wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare which was only broken when the tankard he'd left hovering halfway to his mouth tilted forward just enough to splash a generous portion of its contents into his lap. Fenris watched in amusement as the mage cursed and batted at his soiled robes, the beginnings of a vindictive smile making the corner of his mouth twitch, though it quickly withered away to be be replaced by yet another irate sneer as he looked to the man at his left.

"I am afraid I must disagree with you, Merrill. 'Pretty' just seems to be far too – insufficient – a word, no?" the assassin sang, the lewd, almost hungry look in his eye as he leered at Hawke acting as the catalyst to Fenris' renewed aggravation while he chose to ignore the small voice in his head which whispered accusations of hypocrisy, "Bah, but the Common tounge is so dreadfully limited in these matters! Antivan is far better suited for such purposes. _Sembri molto bella, mia cara. S_imply _incantevali_."

"I thought we'd already covered this once today, Zevran," Hawke asked, her arms crossing over her chest as she cocked and incredulous brow at the elf's words, though Fenris was surprised to see a small smile break through the nervousness that lingered in her face, "Blatant flattery doesn't work on me, particularly when I can't even understand it."

"Always so hesitant to accept a compliment when given!" the man laughed with a flash of white teeth, "My friend, you truly are the most humble person I have ever had the pleasure to meet. An undeserved trait, if I might add."

"So Hawke," Varric piped in with shameless curiosity, thankfully pulling the mage's attention from the Crow's smarmy compliments, "inquiring minds want to know. What kept you so damn long? Bandits? Coterie? Your steward's boy get himself tangled up in the chandelier again?"

"Nothing quite so interesting, I'm afraid," Isabela cut in as she sauntered over to claim the empty seat next to the Antivan, "I found her passed out cold and naked as a jay bird in her bath tub, snoring so loud she was shaking the windows."

"That's a lie and you know it, Bela," Hawke hissed, glaring daggers at the pirate while Fenris tried in vain not to picture the revealing circumstances of her alleged discovery, "I most certainly was _not _snoring. I _never _snore."

"Hawke, if you'd have been any louder, dogs would've been joining in from out in the streets," Isabela asserted, kicking her booted feet up to rest on top of the table, "Honestly, I don't know how your staff sleeps in that house, I could hear you clear as day in your foyer."

"No Aveline or Donnic tonight, then?" Hawke asked the group with a slightly raised voice, pointedly ignoring her friend and her continued teasing, "Were they on the roster for rounds?"

"Er, no, not quite," Sebastian answered, his already flushed face turning another shade darker as he began dealing out the cards, "I stopped by their home earlier this afternoon to see if they were planning on joining us tonight. Apparently today's their anniversary, and Aveline said that they would be 'regretfully indisposed' for the evening."

"Ah! So the captain's letting her guardsman patrol her back alley!" Isabela cried out, her eyes sparkling, "Don't stop there, Sebastian! Did she say anything else? Any other delectable little snippets I can harass her with later?"

"She thought you might say something like that," the chantry brother responded, looking up to the pirate with a mixture of discomfort and diversion, "and she wanted me to 'tell that slattern to mind her own Maker-forsaken business for once'."

"That's my girl," Isabela smiled as she leaned back in her chair, "as much of a dull prig as she always is."

"As entertaining as speculating on what goes on in Aveline's bedchamber is," the dwarf interrupted, the disturbed look on his face indicating he felt differently, "do you think we could get back to the game? I'm still a sovereign short for that tin of polish I promised Bianca."

"Well we can't have that now, can we?" Hawke concluded, finally moving from her place halfway between the doorway and the table towards a free chair, "Go ahead and deal me in, Sebastian."

It was not until he heard the loud scrapping of wooden legs on floorboards and felt the lyrium in his skin begin to tingle with an accursed, well-known sensation that Fenris realized the last unoccupied seat was the one placed directly to his left. A momentary panic began to set in as he glanced towards the woman out of the corner of his eye, only to see, much to his dismay and vexation, Hawke settle herself into the chair, a nearly imperceptible hint of firmness in her expression as she pulled herself closer to the table. The jerky movement caused her elbow to briefly brush against his own, sending the elf's head instantly reeling as a jolt of her magic pulsed throughout his body. Fenris froze like a granite statue, the inside of his cheek caught painfully between his teeth as he struggled to rein in and quash the unwanted visions the sensation revived; a task which was only made more difficult when Hawke saw fit to toss her braided hair over her shoulder, resulting in a waft of almond and sandalwood which caressed his nose and further tempted him.

_"__Festis bei umo canavarum, Hawke," _he muttered silently in near resentment, noticing with a strong stoking of his ire that the damned assassin had reinstated his earlier practice of drawing his eyes up and down the entire length of the mage's body, his salacious gaze unfaltering and unapologetic.

The smallest sound of creaking glass reached Fenris' ear as his mug finally began to crack under the pressure of his grip. Maker, this was going to be a long night.

* * *

_Sembri molto bella, mia cara_ - You look very beautiful, my dear

_incantevali_ - ravishing


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **I know that I had previously posted this chapter, but I wanted to post it as a new one once more so that I could personally thank all of my followers for being so patient with me over the past couple months with my lack of new updates. As you may or may not know, after reading through what I had done already for this story, I realized that I desperately could use the help of a beta to make it as good as it could possibly be. I have been fortunate enough to have found two amazing betas, Kyla Baines and Strangegibbon, who have been ridiculously patient and helpful throughout this whole process. If you have enjoyed the story so far, you have them to thank!

Anyway, from this point on all new material will be betaed and edited by them, so there will be no more excessively long breaks in between updates, at least not any which are unrelated to my work schedule eating up any and all time I have for writing. I'm in the process of working on chapter 6 as we speak, so I will hopefully have some shiny, brand new material for all you lovely readers sometime in the near future. Again, thank you so much for all of your patience! I hope I prove myself worthy!

* * *

To Conspire With an Antivan - Chapter 5

Fenris sat in his usual place at the table in Varric's suite, dark brows pulled together in feigned concentration as he stared at the cards held in his grasp, only partially aware of the inane conversations surrounding him. His free hand closed around his mug as he raised it to his lips, drawing deeply from the foul tasting bilge water the Hanged Man passed off as ale in an attempt to distract himself from the gnawing unease which had taken up residence in the back of his mind. His eyes shot to the battered clock resting above the fireplace as he choked down his mouthful of swill, scowling in frustration as he watched the small hand tick ever closer to the tenth hour of the night.

"Hey, Broody, are you in this round or not? It's been your turn to raise for the past ten minutes!" Varric said loudly, thumping his fist against the top of the table to catch the man's attention and rattling the scattered glasses covering its surface in the process. Fenris gave a start at the commotion before snapping himself out of his distracted thoughts, rushing to tear his focus from the timepiece on the wall and turning back to the other members of their group as he schooled his face into a carefully blank expression.

Varric slumped against the arm of his chair in exasperation, easily seeing through the warrior's show of indifference as their gazes met. "Oh come on now, elf, not you too! By the Ancestors, am I the only one here not panicked over Hawke being a little late? You do realize you're all working yourselves up over nothing, right?"

"I would hardly call an infallibly punctual woman being two hours overdue 'nothing,' dwarf," he snapped out of reflex, realizing too late that his retort had also been an indirect admittance of concern for the missing mage, a fact which was unfortunately not lost on Varric. The rogue's eyes brightened in interest at his comrade's accidental revelation, meeting the elf's glowering with a knowing look before returning his gaze to his own flagon of ale, the faintest hint of a smug grin making the corner of his mouth curve around it's brim. Fenris felt his temper flare at the sight of it, thoroughly cursing the perceptive dwarf as well as his own idiocy as he glanced over his cards, too riled to bother taking notice of their rank or suit. He hastily tossed a silver into the small pile of coin in the center of the table, eager for the chance to move the game along in hopes that it would be enough of a distraction to prevent anyone else from recognizing his confession for what it was.

"Fenris does make a good point, Varric," Sebastian said, a frown drawing faint lines across his forehead as he pushed a few coins of his own towards the pot. "I've never known Hawke to be late for anything, least of all a game of Diamondback. This is all more than a bit disconcerting if you ask me."

"You don't think something's happened to her, do you Sebastian?" The witch asked nervously, her wide-eyed stare growing impossibly larger as she worried at the frayed hem of her scarf. "Oh, I knew we shouldn't have let Isabela go off looking for her on her own, what if they're both in trouble now? This is just terrible!"

"Daisy, don't waste your time listening to Choir Boy," Varric said gently, a wide hand patting the Dalish girl on the forearm while throwing the ex-prince a chastising glare when she wasn't looking. "It's like I told you earlier. There's no reason for us to rouse the guard and send out a search party when Hawke probably just fell asleep face first in a pile of paperwork. Or Blondie's manifesto."

"I'm sitting right here, you know. I think you'd find it fairly informative, Varric. If you'd just -"

"Not even with a knife to my throat and a razor to my chest hair, friend. I'm no glutton for punishment," he said, chuckling over the mage's sputtering before turning back to the fretting girl and cuffing her softly on the chin. "Now enough with all the worrying, all right? For me? All you're going to do is make yourself sick at this rate, and Norah'll make my life miserable if we give her another mess to clean. I promise, Rivaini's got it more than under control."

"I rather have to agree with Varric, my dear - Merrill, yes? The chances of our friends running into any real danger are doubtful at best," an accented voice said, it's reappearance enough to set Fenris' blood boiling. The elf looked up from the dregs of his tankard, aware and uncaring of his obvious disgust as he took in the sight of the Antivan seated before him. Zevran was lounging contentedly in his chair, legs outstretched and resting over the top of the armrest as he swirled a tumbler of dark liquor in one hand, the same smirk he had worn earlier in the day while leering at Hawke testing the borders of Fenris' already limited patience.

It had been much to the warrior's dismay that the assassin had met little to no resistance in assimilating into their party. Isabela's enthusiastic endorsement and his suave smile had made short work of any initial reluctance the others may have felt towards him. The Crow had then effortlessly wormed his way into their good graces with a few honeyed words, his offer to cover the first round of drinks for the evening the final push needed to shift their opinions firmly in his favor. Even Sebastian had fallen victim to the Antivan's charms, something which had come as a shock considering how severely Zevran's former occupation clashed with the devout Andrastian's beliefs and past experience with mercenaries.

A low grumble reverberated in Fenris' throat as he drank again from his flagon.

_"Halfwits, the lot of them."_

Was he honestly the only member of Hawke's group competent enough to see the repugnant man for what he was? The elf continued to watch in contempt as the Antivan leaned forward, taking an unhurried slip from his drink and smacking his lips together in appreciation before setting it down on top of his cards.

"Even if they had, I can guarantee you that there is no need to worry yourself over their safety. I have seen for myself what happens to those who make the mistake of crossing blades with 'Bela more times than I can recall, and I am sure everyone here has witnessed what your Hawke is capable of when threatened. Believe me when I say I feel nothing but remorse for any fool mad enough to raise arms against either of them."

The abomination snorted from the other side of the table. "You can say that again. Isabela's been sending a constant stream of broken noses and bruised egos to my clinic since the day she blew into Kirkwall, and don't even get me started on the mess Hawke left behind last week when those coterie bastards tried to jump her in an ally. Some of the walls down there are still stained red."

"Their skill in a fight does nothing to change the fact that Hawke is still missing," Fenris said, his anxiety over the mage's absence and irritation at the assassin's presence finally besting the tenuous restraint he'd struggled to maintain over his tongue, "and neither would it help if she were attacked while alone or outnumbered."

"You give the woman far too little credit, my pessimistic friend. This is the Champion of Kirkwall you're talking about after all. Do you truly have such little faith in her abilities?" the Antivan said with a slow shake of his head, unfazed by the ire which flashed in Fenris' eyes.

"Possession of a title does not make someone invincible, Crow. Surly you've murdered enough dignitaries in your time to be aware of that."

"Such unwarranted hostility! It seems my initial assumptions were correct - your armor matches your personality perfectly! As sharp and cold on the inside as you are out, are you not?"

Fenris felt the ceramic of his mug begin to protest as he fought and nearly failed to keep the last threads of his self-control intact, a growl escaping his lips at the assassin's ribbing. The cad remained as unperturbed as ever in the face of his growing rage, returning the dangerous look he received with yet another wink which had the warrior seeing red.

"What I believe Fenris was trying to say," Sebastian said hastily, rushing to alleviate the growing tension between the two elves, "is that the chance of being overwhelmed while on your own is a threat for anyone, even someone as proficient in combat as Hawke."

"Precisely," Fenris said, his eyes no more than slits as he glowered at the assassin, who responded by giving a noncommittal shrug before picking up his glass to toss back the remainder of its contents.

"That's _it!_ I can't stand it any longer!" Merrill cried, her abrupt shout making everyone seated around the table jump. "If Hawke needs help we certainly aren't doing her any favors sitting here twiddling our thumbs! It's about time we actually _did_ something."

"Daisy," Varric said, completely taken aback by the normally meek elf's sudden determination, "In all honesty, I really don't think-"

"We've stalled long enough, Varric," she said, cutting off the dwarf with a scathing look, "Come with me or don't, but I can't sit here another minute not knowing if she and Isabela are alright, the waiting is driving me mad!"

Fenris stared at the blood mage in bewilderment as a hush fell over the room, all traces of his animosity for the Antivan temporarily overtaken by his surprise at Merrill's uncharacteristically bold behavior. She met his gaze unapologetically as she looked to each of the men in turn, her chest heaving and nostrils flared as though daring them to attempt to change her mind - something the warrior had no intention of doing. In spite of his fervent dislike of the witch, Fenris agreed whole-heartedly with her insistence. Two hours' worth of uncertainty and dread over Hawke's whereabouts were more than enough for a lifetime, let alone a single evening. It was high time they started looking for the damned mage themselves.

"All right Daisy, ok. You win," Varric said, breaking the silence with a resigned sigh and abandoning his earlier attempts of placating the girl. "Just give Hawke and Rivaini five more minutes. If they still haven't shown up by then, Bianca, the boys and I'll help you tear apart Kirkwall if that's really what you want."

"You will?" she asked hopefully as a wide smile spread over her face, her anger disappearing in the blink of an eye.

"'Course we will, _won't_ _we _boys?" he asked the men pointedly, all of whom mumbled a quick agreement. "I'm not about to let you go wandering around back allies by yourself in the middle of the night, we'd just end up having to look for you too."

"So, a manhunt it shall be! How invigorating!" Zevran said excitedly as he turned to face Merrill. "But if we are to continue playing our game until it is time to leave, might I offer you a word of advice, my dear? The way you have your cards, you tilt them slightly to the left. You may wish to hold them up a bit more, unless it is your intention to allow others to see them. I am quite sure the healer has already been doing so all night."

"I most certainly have not!"

"Oh, I doubt it really matters," she said, frowning down at the pieces of paper clutched unevenly in her fingers. "I don't think I'm doing very well this round, anyway. None of my cards have any numbers on them, just a bunch of men with swords in silly hats and a couple with a big letter 'A'."

"And I believe that's my cue to fold," Varric said as he pushed his cards towards the center of the table, his gesture copied by the rest of the men.

"Wait, but I – didn't that -" she said, looking from one person to the next in complete confusion before throwing her hand to the tabletop in a huff. "Oh, by the Dread Wolf, I don't know why I even bother! I'll never be able to figure this blasted game out!"

"Look on the bright side, Merrill," Sebastian said with a grin as Varric slid the smaller-than-average pile of winnings towards the elf. "You've just made more coin in one round than I've seen Hawke win in four years."

"Or ever. I swear - with all the coin that girl's lost she could have bought the Viscount's keep three times over by now. You'd think she'd learn eventually."

"I suppose I could always stop playing if you're feeling guilty about lining your pockets with my coin, Varric," a new voice said from the entrance of the suite, its sound perking Fenris' ears and hitting him with an enormous wave of relief as well as indignation for the concern it's owner had laden him with.

"Hawke!" The witch cried, knocking her chair onto the floor in her rush to reach the mage. "Oh, thank the Creators you're alright!"

"I told you she thought you were dead," Isabela laughed as Fenris turned in his seat to be presented with the most absurd sight he had seen in some time. The malificar had thrown herself at Hawke in an enthusiastic greeting, and now clung to the woman's front like a squirrel to the side of a tree as she wittered on about how scared she had been for her safety. Hawke, looking staggered by her friend's grandiose showing of concern for her late arrival, peered back and forth from the top of the elf's head to Isabela, awkwardly patting the girl on the shoulder as she silently begged for the pirate's assistance.

"Come on now, Kitten, give the girl a chance to breathe. You don't want to strangle her after I went through all the trouble of tracking her down now, do you?"

"No, not at all! That would be terrible!" the witch said, horrified as she hastened to disentangle herself from the mage's waist. "I'm sorry, Lethallan, I was just so worried! It's wonderful to see that you're alright."

"It's fine, Merrill," Hawke said to her with a small smile, wincing slightly as she ran a hand along her ribs where she had been gripped tightest. "No lasting damage done in any case."

"Oh my, and don't you look pretty tonight, too!" the elf said, her hands clapping together as she stepped back, revealing the woman to the rest of the room.

No sooner had the witch moved than Fenris felt his eyes widen and his heart stutter through its next several beats, his first uninhibited glimpse of Hawke catching him completely off guard. The man could do little more than gape as any and all sense of good judgment he possessed in regards to the woman standing before him was scattered like leaves to the wind, it's defeat found in the pairing of her soft features with a set of flattering cotton breeches and a comely silk tunic. For a few brief, gloriously sinful moments, all reservations and determination were lost as he admired the way the crimson blouse hugged her like a well-fitting glove, the image stirring up long repressed but undeniably alluring memories of the body he knew was concealed beneath its fabric. Unbidden recollections flashed to the front of his mind as his gaze rose to the golden embroidery which decorated the garment's collar, its line begging for his attention as it plunged between the tops of her breasts. A jolt of desire shot throughout his body as he recalled how he had once been privileged enough to draw kisses along its very path, how the feel of her skin alone had nearly undone him, made his markings sing and -

_"No! No no no no! Venhedis, man, control yourself! Enough of this lunacy!" _a venomous voice screamed in Fenris' ear, it's materialization shaking him free from his daze and dragging him back to the present. Potent anger rose like molten lead in the elf's chest, drowning out his traitorous reminiscences as he berated himself for his lapse of discipline.

_"Twice in one day,"_ he seethed, tearing his view away from the mage's distracting clothing and seeking refuge in the burn of sour ale. Twice in one Maker-forsaken day he had allowed his thoughts to wander down the same hazardous trail, the temptation of Hawke's magic, a hair ribbon and a blighted _shirt_ of all things too much for his willpower to endure. The muscles in Fenris' neck and jaw tightened as he attempted to conceal a frustrated snarl. Simple pieces of fabric should not be able to drive him to such idiocy.

The idea that he could be so easily overcome was infuriating. He knew better than this. Permitting himself to relive these memories of the mage was reckless, dangerous, foolish. Brief instances of nothing more than selfish indulgence which never failed to deepen the already numerous cracks in the walls he had built to keep her out. If he were to continue on like this, turning a blind eye to his desire to cling to the shadows of what they once had and the weakness it provoked in him, it would only be a matter of time before those same barricades crumbled to dust at his feet. Should that happen, should all traces of the carefully maintained distance he had forced between them be abandoned, the results would lead to nothing short of disaster for himself and unavoidable pain for Hawke. Was her well-being truly worth so little to him that he would risk harming her further all for the sake of his own gratification?

An anguished pang cut like ice through the heart of Fenris' anger, cooling and replacing his irritation with shame, the thought that he could consider doing such a thing for even a moment making his stomach clench into knots. No. No he would not. He had done, and would continue to do, enough damage as it was. He would not be so cruel as to intentionally open her old wounds, most of which he knew had yet to properly heal, only to end up rubbing salt into them.

"Not that you don't normally, of course. I think your robes are lovely," the witch said, her witless chattering enough to banish the last of Fenris' distracted thoughts. "They remind me of the old quilts the clan would line the bottoms of our aravels with in the winter."

"Er - thanks Merrill. I think," Hawke said, reaching up to weave her fingers into the ends of her braided hair while Isabela snorted into a clenched fist behind her. A light blush bloomed across the mage's cheeks as she began to notice the gawking her unconventional choice of clothing had inspired in her other friends, her apprehension making plain just how uncomfortable she felt under their scrutiny.

The dwarf's and Chantry brother's responses were admittedly innocent enough. Varric met the sight with an arched brow before shooting a questioning glance over Hawke's shoulder towards Isabela, who gave a cheerful smile in response. Rather than press the pirate for an explanation, which he was no doubt itching to receive, the man simply sighed as he shook his head before turning to speak to the blood mage, a faint "What did I tell you, Daisy?" reaching Fenris' ears from their side of the table. Sebastian had taken all of one look at the woman before his entire face had flushed a beetroot red, his eyes darting away as he quickly busied himself collecting and shuffling the deck of cards for the next round of their game.

The abomination on the other hand had seemingly lost the ability to find interest in anything _but_ Hawke, his face fixed in a wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare which was only broken when the tankard he'd left hovering halfway to his mouth tilted forward enough to splash a generous portion of its contents into his lap. Fenris watched in amusement as the mage cursed and batted at his soiled robes, the beginnings of a vindictive smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, though it quickly withered away to be replaced by yet another sneer as he caught sight of the man at the abomination's left.

"I am afraid I must disagree with you, Merrill. 'Pretty' just seems to be far too... insufficient a word, no?" the assassin said, the hungry look in his eyes as he leered at Hawke acting as the catalyst to Fenris' aggravation while he chose to ignore the small voice in his head which whispered accusations of hypocrisy. "Bah, but the Common tongue is so dreadfully limited in these matters! Antivan is far better suited for such purposes. _Sembri molto bella, mia cara. S_imply _incantevali_."

"I thought we'd already covered this once today, Zevran," Hawke said, her arms crossing over her chest as she cocked a brow at the elf's words, though Fenris was surprised to see a small smile break through the nervousness which lingered. "Blatant flattery doesn't work on me, particularly when I can't even understand it."

"Always so hesitant to accept a compliment when given! My friend, you truly are the most humble person I have ever had the pleasure to meet. An undeserved trait, I might add."

"So, Hawke," Varric said with shameless curiosity, thankfully pulling the mage's attention from the Crow's smarmy compliments, "inquiring minds want to know. What kept you so damn long? Bandits? Coterie? Your steward's boy get himself tangled up in the chandelier again?"

"Nothing quite so interesting, I'm afraid," Isabela cut in as she sauntered over to claim the empty seat next to the Antivan. "I found her passed out naked as a jay bird in the bath, snoring so loud she was shaking the windows."

"That's a lie and you know it, 'Bela," Hawke said, glaring daggers at the pirate while Fenris tried in vain not to picture the revealing circumstances of her discovery. "I most certainly was _not _snoring. I _never _snore."

"Hawke, if you'd have been any louder, dogs would've been joining in from out in the streets. Honestly, I don't know how your staff sleeps in that house, I could hear you clear as day in your foyer."

"No Aveline or Donnic tonight, then?" Hawke asked the group with a slightly raised voice, pointedly ignoring her friend's teasing, "Were they on the roster for rounds?"

"Er, no, not quite," Sebastian answered, his already flushed face turning another shade darker as he began dealing out the cards. "I stopped by their home earlier this afternoon to see if they were planning on joining us. Apparently today's their anniversary. Aveline said they would be 'regretfully indisposed' for the evening."

"Ah! So the Captain's letting her guardsman patrol her back alley! Don't stop there, Sebastian! Did she say anything else? Any other delectable little snippets I can harass her with later?"

"She thought you might say something like that," the chantry brother said, looking up to the pirate with a mixture of discomfort and diversion, "and she wanted me to 'tell that slattern to mind her own Maker-forsaken business for once.'"

"That's my girl," Isabela smiled as she leaned back in her chair, "as much of a dull prig as always."

"As entertaining as speculating on what goes on in Aveline's bedchamber is," the dwarf said, the disturbed look on his face indicating he felt differently. "Do you think we could get back to the game? I'm still a sovereign short for that tin of polish I promised Bianca."

"Well, we can't have that now, can we?" Hawke said, finally moving from her place halfway between the doorway and the table towards a free chair. "Go ahead and deal me in, Sebastian."

It was not until he heard the loud scraping of wooden legs on floorboards and felt the lyrium in his skin begin to tingle that Fenris realized the last unoccupied seat was the one placed directly to his left. Panic set in as he glanced towards the woman out of the corner of his eye only to see, much to his vexation, Hawke settle herself into the chair, a hint of firmness in her expression as she pulled herself closer to the table. The movement caused her elbow to brush against his own, sending the elf's head instantly reeling as a jolt of her magic pulsed throughout his body. Fenris froze like a granite statue, the inside of his lip caught painfully between his teeth as he struggled to rein in the unwanted visions the sensation revived - a task which was only made more difficult when Hawke saw fit to toss her hair over her shoulder, sending a waft of almond and sandalwood to caress his nose and further tempt him.

_"Festis bei umo canavarum, Hawke," _he muttered silently, noticing with a stoking of his ire that the damned assassin had reinstated his earlier practice of drawing his eyes up and down the length of the mage's body, his gaze unfaltering and unapologetic.

The smallest sound of creaking glass reached Fenris' ear as his mug finally began to crack under the pressure of his grip. Maker, this was going to be a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** First of all, I would like to thank my followers for being so wonderful over the past few months while I've been editing and re-working this story. Your patience is very much appreciated, and I hope you find this next chapter worthy the longer-than-average wait!

Second, I wanted to let my followers also know that I have signed up for the Dragon Age reverse big bang on LiveJournal, and will be working solely on my submission for it for the next few weeks to make sure I have it ready for the deadline of July 18th. There will most likely be a pause in updates on TCWAA because of this, but it should be nowhere near as long as the one between chapter 5 and 6, promise!

And lastly, I'd like to again thank my ever supportive and fantastic betas, Kyla Baines and strangegibbon, for all their help and advice. I would never be as happy with where this story is going if it weren't for them.

So yes, without further ado, here is chapter 6 of To Conspire With an Antivan, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, **please let me know what you think**!

* * *

To Conspire With an Antivan - Chapter 6

"_So much for the hostility-free evening I was hoping for," _Hawke thought miserably as she pulled her chair closer to the table, her arm brushing against Fenris' in the process. Tension broke and radiated off the elf like heat from a furnace at the contact, his mouth twisting into a glower which the mage did her best to ignore, despite the old ache it stirred in her chest.

Irritation at her own stupidity quickly rose to stomp down on it, her teeth gritting together in the hope that it would prevent any melancholy from showing on her face. There was no one to blame for her disappointment but herself. The man's surliness was far from surprising behavior – to expect anything different out of him was as asinine an idea as trusting Gamlen with your coin purse in the middle of the Blooming Rose. Looking back, she knew now that it had been pure foolishness on her part to even consider - let alone hold on to - the idea that Fenris' would be one of the heads Isabela had insisted she would be turning tonight. The notion was nothing more than another example of the same infatuated folly she had been so determined to be done with not six hours ago.

_"Easier said than done I suppose," _she said to herself with a derisive snort behind the cards Sebastian dealt her, all whilst trying not to notice how the elf stiffened when she moved to toss her braid over a shoulder.

Hawke was relieved when the normal clamor of conversation, clinking glasses, and chinking coin picked back up without further preamble. She gratefully accepted a flagon offered to her by Varric, thankful for the distraction it would afford her despite the fact that she would now be expected to drink the brew it contained. The mage made to raise the mug to her lips, grimacing in preparation for the ale's infamously horrendous aftertaste, when she noticed a pair of keen, honey-colored eyes watching her from across the table.

Zevran was casting her an undeniably appreciative gaze, the quirk of his lip and brow as he looked at her pulling at the lines of his tattoos in a way which only accentuated the sharp features of his face. The assassin's focus did not falter or fall away upon his discovery - instead he met Hawke's perplexed stare with a coy smirk and the slightest of nods which had her stomach doing somersaults in a matter of seconds.

_"Well, at least someone's enjoying watching me make a fool out of myself,"_ she thought as she returned the elf's smile with a sheepish grin. A flush of heat began working its way up her neck and onto her cheeks as she reluctantly returned her attention to the game at hand, far too flustered by the Antivan's latest bout of attentions to take any notice of the growl coming from the man beside her.

The next few rounds of cards passed by without much significance, save for the rapidly decreasing weight of Hawke's purse and a spilled tray of drinks - the latter being the end result of Sebastian's attempt to excuse himself to the privy at the same time Norah had come through the door with their order. Varric and Isabela spent a good deal of time bemoaning the low going rates of the items they had pilfered from the Crows' camp, all while their respective piles of silvers and sovereigns steadily grew to tower above the rest of the group's. Merrill proved unusually quiet, contributing only passively to the surrounding chatter in the brief moments her eyes weren't locked in concentration on her hand of cards, apparently determined not to allow herself a second costly slip-up like the one she had already made.

Much the same as the Dalish girl but far less surprisingly, Fenris remained utterly still and silent, unmoving to the point that Hawke would have sworn the elf had been turned to stone if not for the occasional glare she saw him toss across the table at Zevran. The Antivan took the warrior's animosity in admirably easy stride, meeting each scowl with an air of nonchalance which only seemed to irritate the warrior further if the way his sneer continued to deepen was any indication.

Anders spent the majority of his time speaking amicably with Hawke, the topic of choice eventually falling to ingredients she had offered to help collect for a potion which, with any luck, would sever the ties binding him to Justice once and for all. While she had initially been skeptical as to just how likely the ritual was to succeed - as well as wary of the fact that they were actually considering the use of magic developed by Tevinter magisters – Anders' enthusiasm for their task along with the return of some of his cheerful demeanor had been enough to leave Hawke feeling optimistic. Even if their attempts were to eventually be proven futile, she would be content with this reassurance that the man she had originally befriended was still present beneath the spirit's influence.

"I've gone ahead and stored the Sela Petrae in the closet at the back of the clinic, but the smell still seeps out into the main room whenever someone opens the front door and lets a draft in. I have to say, it's not exactly the most pleasant of aromas to work around," Anders said, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the memory.

"You're telling me," Hawke said as she tossed her last sovereign into the pot. "Orana had to burn the clothes I wore after trying everything short of beating them with rocks. Why I thought floor length robes were a good idea that day, I'll never know."

"Not one of your better decisions, no. Anyway, it would be best to have the Drakestone ready by the end of this week if possible. The mixture will take at least a fortnight to ferment properly. Possibly longer depending on how well the other ingredients react to one another, so I'd like to get everything underway sooner rather than later."

"So long as I don't have to go traipsing through sewage to find it for you, I'm all for it."

"No, no cesspits this time. Drakestone builds up in mines and caverns."

"Well that's perfect, then. I needed to check up on the men at the Bone Pit anyway, make sure Hubert hasn't been falling back on old business practices. I can find some for you when I go."

"You're sure you don't mind looking for it by yourself?" the mage asked, sounding unexpectedly concerned. "I'm more than happy to help. This is for my benefit, after all."

"No, don't worry about it, Anders. It's not like I'll be going out of my way. Besides, you've got a clinic to run, remember? I don't think the poor sod who comes in with a severed limb will want to wait while you go off on a scavenger hunt."

"Alright ladies, gentlemen and scoundrels," Varric said loudly as he fanned his cards out in front of him, "time to show 'em!"

There was a rustling of paper and bodies as the rest of the group revealed their hands, followed shortly by a collective groan which rippled around the table at the sight of Isabela's third winning set in a row.

"How is it that you always win?" Merrill asked sadly, watching as the last of the few coins she had gained earlier were swept up to join the rest of the Rivaini's winnings.

"Practice, a bit of luck and skill, Kitten," the pirate said with a wink as she patted the elf lovingly on the cheek.

"And by skill you mean the half deck's worth of cards you have hidden down your bodice, I assume," Sebastian said hotly before taking a swig from his flagon.

Isabela smirked, her tone dropping to a teasing purr as she leaned against the table, cleavage prominently displayed in the Chantry brother's direction. "I never realized you paid that much attention to my tits, Sebastian! Care to take a guess at where else I have them stashed? I'll even let you collect them yourself if you get it right."

"So, Zevran," Hawke said hurriedly, raising her voice above the sound of Sebastian choking on his mouthful of ale, "'Bela mentioned on the way here that you spent quite a bit of time traveling with Grey Wardens a few years back."

"Ah yes, an interesting time in my life to say the least," the Antivan said as he leaned into the arm of his chair, a thoughtful look passing across his face. "Then again, I am quite certain there was little chance of it being anything _but_. That was simply the sort of woman Aerin was. Witty, exciting, brave, deadly - all combined with a terrible habit of attracting the worst sorts of attention at the most inconvenient of times. Traits I find you share quite closely with her, Hawke, if I may be so bold."

"Well, you got the 'walking around with a giant bullseye on her back' part right," Varric said with a laugh, unrepentant in the face of the frown Hawke shot him. "What? You know it's true. How many times have we had some would-be gang of thugs try to jump us from a rooftop just in the past month? It's like they fall out of the sky whenever you're around. Even I couldn't make that sound believable."

"Hold on a moment. Did you say her name was Aerin?" Anders asked, recognition dawning in the man's face. "You wouldn't happen to mean Aerin Tabris?"

"The very same, in fact."

"That means you're _that _Antivan, aren't you? The one who helped stop the Blight. I knew your name sounded familiar - I heard all about you when I was still with the order in Amaranthine."

Zevran smiled as he shifted in his seat, the room's candlelight catching on the buckles of his armor. "It seems my reputation precedes me. Though I must confess, whatever you have heard is most likely wild exaggeration. The part I played in our little adventure was a small one at best."

"Not according to Tabris. She told us stories about you constantly. I've heard the one about how you broke her out of Fort Drakon so many times I could recite it in my sleep. You'd think you were the Maker himself the way she carried on."

Zevran's reaction to the mage's words was slight, a nearly imperceptible change in his expression which Hawke was certain had gone unnoticed by the others at the table. In truth, it would have most likely been overlooked by her as well, had she not already witnessed a similar occurrence during their shared rest along the seacoast. For the second time that day the assassin's sleek countenance faltered, slipping just enough for her to see something akin to elation flash in his eyes before it was hidden away behind his usual smirk.

"Is that so?" he asked, his tone one of only mild interest and betraying none of the emotion Hawke had glimpsed as he reached for a bottle of dark liquor stashed below his chair. There was a small pop followed by the clink of glass against glass as he uncorked and poured himself a measure, taking a small sip as he continued. "I would imagine she spoke of her fellow Grey Warden just as frequently, yes?"

"You mean Theirin? Not all that much actually, no," Anders said with a shrug, making the feathers of his pauldrons quiver. "She mentioned him in passing a few times, but never really said anything significant. To tell the truth, I don't think she liked being reminded of him. From what I heard the two of them had quite the falling out when he left the order to take over Cailan's place on the throne."

"Truly?" the Antivan asked in surprise, his question tinged with something which sounded oddly enough like satisfaction, though its presence did not last. "That is a most terrible shame. She and Alistair had become rather... fond of one another during our journeys."

Their conversation about the Warden-Commander carried on for some time, it's longevity fueled in equal measure by Anders' history with the woman and the others' interest in learning more about the Hero of Ferelden, Varric going so far as to pull out parchment, quill and ink to jot down notes. Fenris was, of course, the exception to the rule, his stony silence broken only by the occasional grumble when their discussion continued to persist well past the final few rounds of Diamondback. Why he refused to simply excuse himself for the evening remained a mystery to Hawke, who was becoming more and more irritated by the elf's grousing as the night wore on, though she chose to remain mum on the subject. Far be it from her to show concern over his decision to wallow in self-inflicted misery.

"You never did say where you were headed after Kirkwall, Zev," Isabela said some time later as she threw back the last swallow of ale in her mug. "Planning on sticking around for a bit?"

"For a short while, yes. I was able to book passage on a ship leaving for Gwaren in a week's time. I will not be wandering far until then."

"I think Corff has a room open down the hall if you haven't gotten yourself one yet," Varric said as he bent to scoop up his winnings into his coin purse, its strained stitching looking as though it were ready to burst. "Not the classiest place you'll find, but it's cheap, the doors lock and the bedding's clean. Well, most of the time anyway, so long as Norah's in a good mood."

"Or there's always the Rose," Isabela said with a devious smile. "Madam Lusine can be a hard-ass, but the rest of the staff is just marvelous. Not to mention willing to try just about anything you throw at them if you've got the coin to back it up."

"Both tempting suggestions, I assure you," Zevran said with a chuckle. "Though I am afraid it would be most unwise for me to choose such, shall we say, conventional lodgings while in the city, what with the Crows being so close by."

"Er, correct me if I'm wrong here," Hawke said, meeting the elf's gaze, "but didn't we already handle that little problem this afternoon? I'm no expert or anything, but I think it's safe to say those corpses we left behind aren't going to be getting back up any time in the near future."

"Nor do I, my delightfully sarcastic friend," Zevran said, grinning in the face of her confusion, "but I more than suspect the men we encountered this afternoon were not the only ones assigned to my trail."

"There are _more _of them?" she asked incredulously, eyes widening. "Andraste's ass, just how many men did they think it would take to kill you?"

"Enough to provide me with a significant boost to my ego, that is for certain."

"How many do you think are left? Another camp's worth?"

"Not nearly so many, no. Too much risk of exposure and potential lost coin if they were discovered or killed for the Crows' liking. It is most likely that there is only a single man left, an assassin given orders to report Nuncio's success or to finish the job should he fail, which he has done so spectacularly."

Hawke nodded in understanding. "And what better way to do that than wait for you to pass out in a tavern."

"Precisely."

"But then where will you stay until your ship leaves?" Merrill asked, concerned. "The Alienage maybe, or Darktown?"

"Not a good idea, Daisy," Varric said gravely. "Too many people desperate for coin. If Pretty Boy's right and he does have another assassin on his tail, it would take them all of ten minutes and two silvers to find him."

"An unfortunate truth, I'm afraid," Zevran said placidly. "Perhaps even less, depending on who the Crows have sent. Some of my former associates can be quite persuasive in one way or another. No, I think my best chance is to make camp outside of the city."

"Well that's silly," Merrill said, her brows pulling together. "You shouldn't be alone if there's someone coming after you."

"Your concern is much appreciated, but I am more than capable of defending myself against a single man. The Planasene Forest is not far from here, yes? I can seek shelter there."

"For a week, though? What would you do when you need to sleep and couldn't keep watch? It's not like you can nap in a tree, you'd fall out. "

"Kitten has a point, Zev," Isabela said from behind her refilled flagon. "You're good, but not that good."

"What other option do I have? Returning to Sundermount is out of the question. I am no coward, but it would be foolish to tempt fate with the camp so close by. It will be the first place their man searches. I go there, and I may as well take ship for Antiva and present myself to the Masters on a silver platter."

"You could stay with one of us," Merrill said, looking across the table to meet Sebastian's gaze. "He could go to the Chantry with you, couldn't he? There's all sorts of extra room there."

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I, er, don't think Grand Cleric Elthina would approve of such an – unorthodox guest. No offense meant, Zevran."

"None taken," the Antivan said, waving off the apology. "It would be a poor priest who willingly allowed a Crow amongst their flock, reformed or otherwise."

"Well, what about Hawke's?"

The sound of breaking ceramic shot through the room, pulling everyone's focus from the conversation to the puddle of ale slowly forming under the cracked mug in Fenris' hand.

"Absolutely _not_," he said tersely, too busy shooting daggers across the table at the Dalish girl to notice the attention he had gained.

"Why not?" Merrill asked, untroubled by the warrior's glare. "He can't stay by himself, and it would be too easy for that assassin to find him if he went with any of the rest of us."

"So your suggestion is to have Hawke board a known murderer at the risk of luring another into her estate? I was aware you were dim-witted, witch, but this level of idiocy is remarkable even by your standards."

"Now that was just uncalled for, Broody. Daisy's just trying to help. I don't see you making any suggestions."

Fenris' expression shifted from livid to incredulous in seconds. "You honestly think this a good idea, dwarf?"

Varric smirked, his hands steepling together as he rested his elbows on the tabletop. "Sure I do. The elf gets a place to stay, Hawke gets some use out of that empty mausoleum she calls a house, and we get an extra pair of daggers to work with. Fair trade for a week's worth of lodging, right, Pretty Boy?"

"Of course, I would be more than willing to earn my keep," Zevran said sincerely to the dwarf before turning to Hawke. "Though I would not wish to impose upon you further, my friend, or appear ungrateful for the help you have already given. You have been more than hospitable as it stands."

"Well, I... Er, that is -" she stuttered, stumbling through her words in the face of her sudden predicament, the pair of amber eyes watching her doing nothing to help her think rationally. "Maker's Breath, Zevran, talk about putting a girl on the spot."

"You are actually considering this?" Fenris asked heatedly, his eyes narrowing as he turned his anger on her. "You cannot possibly be serious."

"So what if I am?" she asked, bristling under the elf's criticism. "Last I knew it wasn't your job to dictate who I can and can't invite into my own home, Fenris."

"Well, whatever your decision is, make it quick," Varric said impatiently with a glance towards the clock resting on his mantelpiece. "I should have kicked the lot of you out over an hour ago. Bianca gets cranky when she hasn't gotten enough beauty sleep."

"Then what say you, Hawke?" Zevran asked, voice lowering as he tilted his head to one side. "Will you have me?"

Hawke felt a pulse of heat thrum in the pit of her stomach, her train of thought stalling at the double entendre she could have sworn she had heard in his question. She glanced down into the bottom of her mug, still half full with her first serving of ale, finding it difficult to consider the Antivan's request with a clear head while she knew his eyes were still trained on her.

Her initial instinct was to refuse, if only for the sake of the absolute fit her mother would have thrown if she were to know her daughter would even consider such an arrangement. A vision of Leandra standing in her estate's foyer formed in her head, the woman's expression caught somewhere between piqued annoyance and resignation as she rubbed at her temples.

_"First a slave girl, and now an elven assassin? Maker above, Marian, what will the neighbors say?"_

Hawke snorted quietly at the image, her amusement bittersweet as she reminded herself that her mother was no longer there to chastise her poor choices in companions and the damage they were no doubt doing to her reputation. Not that she'd had much good standing in Hightown society to preserve to begin with. Her status as a begrudgingly tolerated apostate had already cemented her condemnation to the bottommost rungs of the social ladder, after all. Whatever harm an unconventional house guest could do no doubt paled in comparison to what she had done simply by existing. The fact also remained that Varric's comparison of her home to a tomb, while meant in harmless jest, couldn't have been more accurate. The Hawke estate, once anticipated to be the new beginning for which her family had fought and bled, instead stood empty and lifeless, a testament to failures she was not yet ready to forgive herself for. A shiver shot down her spine at the thought, memories of unsettling echos and cold stone walls from just that afternoon enough to drain the suite of its warmth. She had to admit, the prospect of having someone else to keep her company, even if only for a short time, was a tempting suggestion. Of course, the fact that the potential guest in question happened to be an affable, handsome, and exceptionally charming man did not hurt his chances in the least.

Hawke sighed, looking up from her tankard and to the Antivan, too distracted by her certainty that she was soon to either applaud or deeply regret what she was about to do to notice how stiff the elf at her side had become.

"Oh, sod it. All right Zevran, if you're willing to give us a hand with some jobs around the city and you promise not to rob me blind while my back is turned, you've got yourself a place to stay."

"Your generosity will never cease to amaze me, Hawke," the man said with a smile, his eyes closing as he bowed his head to her. "You have my utmost gratitude. I will repay you for this, I swear it."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Varric said as he stood from his seat at the head of the table and stretched. "We're all happy you're not going to be sleeping out in the woods, Pretty Boy. Now go home, the lot of you. This dwarf has a night cap and a bed with his name on it waiting for him."

There was a clamor of dragged chairs, shuffling bodies and final pleasantries as the rest of the group pulled themselves from the table and to their feet. Anders, Sebastian and Merrill were the first to depart, the Chantry brother offering to escort the elf back to the Alienage before making his way to Hightown.

"Let me know when you're heading off to the Bone Pit, Hawke," Anders said, leaning back into the room as he was halfway out the door. "I should at least give you a sketch of what to look for."

"Will do," she said with a nod which was quickly returned to her before the mage slipped out of the doorway, the sound of his feet on the stairs swallowed up by the noise drifting up from the bar below.

Isabela soon made for the exit as well, looking over a shoulder with her hand wrapped around the doorknob and one brow reaching into her hairline.

"Well come on then, Zev," she said, her tone holding the slightest note of agitation as she jerked her head towards the hall. "You left your pack in my room, _remember_?"

"Oh – yes. Yes, of course," the Antivan said shortly, stooping to pick up his bottle of liquor before looking to Hawke once more. "Apologies, my friend. I will be but a moment, then we may be on our way."

"Will you move your ass?" the pirate asked impatiently, tapping her toes against the floorboards as her hand went to her hip. "If I hurry I might still be able to wring a few drinks from the lushes downstairs before they're too soused to find their coin purses."

Zevran quickly crossed the suite to leave with Isabela hot on his heels, the pirate going so far as to push him out of the room when he failed to move fast enough for her liking, the door left swinging in their wake as they went.

* * *

"You are, without a doubt, the most devious, conniving, _brilliant _man I have ever known," Isabela said through a wide smile, pushing the door to her room closed with her hip.

Zevran chuckled as he leaned himself against the foot board of her unmade bed, legs crossing at his ankles. "Please, do continue. You've yet to mention my dashing good looks or how proficient a lover I am."

"I can't believe how well that went," the pirate said happily, still grinning from ear to ear as she moved to collect the elf's pack from underneath her window. "Leave it to Merrill to play right into it without knowing. I swear, I could kiss that girl. In fact, I think I just might. And you! That bit about the assassin? Bloody _perfect_. You had everyone eating out of your hand."

"Bit?" the Antivan asked, easily catching his pack when Isabela tossed it to him across the room.

"The whole act! Hawke never stood a chance," she said excitedly, crossing to her disused desk and hoisting herself up onto it, sending an empty rum bottle crashing to the floor in the process. "I wish I'd known you were planning on using the 'I have no place to go that's safe, they're going to kill me' story. I could have helped sell it better if I'd had some extra time to mull it over."

"Isabela," Zevran said as he pushed himself off of the bed frame and set his pack onto the mattress, "you do realize, I hope, that I was not simply telling tales to sway your Hawke's decision, yes?"

"What do you mean?"

"I did not lie when I said the Crows will have set another assassin on my trail," he said bluntly, calmly, as though he were commenting on nothing more pressing than the weather. "The masters do so quite frequently, in fact. For targets whose removal have been deemed of great financial or political importance. An extra precaution to ensure the job is completed should those originally given the contract fail, which our dearly departed Nuncio has."

"But only the one?" she asked, her high spirits undaunted by the Antivan's revelation. "That hardly seems like much of a threat, particularly after they sent a damned legion's worth the first time."

"True, though their reasoning was valid. A group so large is powerful, perfect for an ambush when their target is unaware and unsuspecting, but completely worthless once they have revealed themselves to the mark. After all, it is far easier for a person to flee their hunters when they are bogged down by supplies and sheer numbers. A single assassin, on the other hand, is quick, silent, able to follow the target without being discovered. Particularly when they have remained on their own."

"Which is what they expected you to do."

"I would assume so, yes," Zevran said, bending over his bag as he carefully tucked his bottle of liquor into its depths, nestling it into a pair of spare breeches. "But seeing as I have been fortunate enough to find asylum amongst your friends, I very much doubt we will be given any trouble. Whoever it is that they have sent for me will not be so foolish as to make an attempt on our group while working alone, and by the time an opportunity presents itself to them, I'll have taken ship and will be half way to Gwaren."

"Well, that just ruins all the fun, doesn't it?" Isabela asked in mock dejection, pouting as she picked at a spot on her chin. "Here I was getting all excited for the chance to gut the bastard when he popped up around a corner. What a let down, Zev."

"I am terribly sorry to have disappointed you, then," the Antivan said with a chuckle as he tied the fastenings of his pack closed. Once satisfied with the strength of the knots, he turned to face the pirate, hands clasping together as a new grin slid into place on his mouth. "Now, if I am not mistaken, we have more pressing matters at hand. Tell me, my dear 'Bela, what is our next step in this delightful scheme of yours?"

"You just keep doing exactly what you're doing now," the pirate said, pushing herself from off of her perch and opening one of its drawers to rummage through it. "At this rate it's only a matter of time before Fenris snaps, takes Hawke 'round the waist and steals her away to the first vacant bush he can find. Either that or he'll try to murder you, but I'm more inclined to think he'd choose the first option."

"And if our morose friend does not play into his role as is expected in the time that we have available?"

"Then you bend that girl over a table and give her something to remember you by, one of your 'Antivan massages' or whatever it is you call it. I'll be damned if Hawke doesn't get at least a good lay out of all this - she's been as barren as the Anderfels for far too long. Ah-ha! Found you, you little blighter!"

Isabela whipped around from the desk, grinning triumphantly with a small parcel wrapped in white paper clutched in her fingers.

"Here, take this," she said, shoving the packet into Zevran's hand. "It'll come in handy when you get to Hawke's. Trust me."

The elf glanced down at the item curiously, pulling the string holding the paper in place loose and shifting it to the side with his thumb.

"Dried meat?" he asked quizzically, looking up from the package to meet the pirate's self-satisfied smile in puzzlement.

"For Sampson," she explained as she started back for the doorway. "We need you on his good side if this whole boarding house set up is going to work. That there should be more than enough for you to win him over. He absolutely _loves _the stuff."

"You neglected to mention Hawke had others living with her," Zevran said as he made to follow her, stopping long enough to take up his pack and slide the jerky into a pocket of his breeches. "This Sampson, he is a family member of hers? A brother, perhaps?"

"Not quite, but you'll find out soon enough," Isabela said with a wink, not bothering to wait for any more of the elf's questions before throwing the door open to step out into the hall.

* * *

No sooner had the pirate and her companion crossed the threshold of the room than Fenris had turned on Hawke, his face contorted into a scowl which put his usual glower to shame.

"I'd avoid going into any larders looking like that if I were you," she said teasingly, though her words were not lacking a sharpened edge. "With a face like that you'd probably end up curdling the milk."

"May I have a word?" he asked, the way his eyes narrowed making it clear she had no option of refusal.

"I'm standing right here, aren't I? Say what you have to say."

"In private_,_" he said curtly, looking over the top of her shoulder at Varric.

"Oh no, Broody, not happening," the dwarf said firmly, swiping through the air with a flattened hand. "The day I'm kicked out of my own room to miss potential story material is the day I kiss a genlock on the mouth. You want privacy, take it into the hallway."

"Co-operative as ever, dwarf," Fenris grumbled to himself as he turned in place, not bothering to wait for Hawke to follow as he marched out of the room. The mage sighed as she watched him slam the door back into place with an earsplitting _bang_, pinching the bridge of her nose in anticipation of the headache she knew was soon to come.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow at some point, Varric," she said as she squared her shoulders, steadying herself for whatever onslaught Fenris had in store for her as she made for the door.

"Goodnight, Hawke. You know where to find me if Broody tries to turn Pretty Boy into a hand-puppet."

Hawke stepped out of the room and into the hall, the sound of muffled laughter and slurred singing from downstairs reaching her as she closed the door behind her. She glanced to her right towards Isabela's room, finding Fenris no more than ten paces down the corridor with his arms folded and glower still firmly in place.

"Have you truly lost what little common sense you possessed, or are you simply suicidal?" he asked shortly as she came to a stop in front of him, somehow managing to look down his nose at her despite their negligible difference in height.

"Since when is offering someone a place to stay grounds for questioning a person's sanity?" she asked unblinkingly, meeting the elf's vitriol with practiced calm despite the sting of his insult.

"Since you seem to be incapable of understanding the danger you are placing both yourself and those you travel with in by allowing this."

Hawke gave a short, harsh laugh, her arms crossing over her chest to mirror his stance. "In danger of what, exactly? Pleasant conversation and excessive flattery? The horror!"

Fenris' nose wrinkled as his lip raised into a sneer. "I fail to find any humor in your willingness to invite an assassin into your home."

"_Former _assassin, thank you very much. I do have some level of discretion."

"As though that makes a difference. The man is a murderer - admits to it gladly - and you would still welcome him among us like an honored guest."

"I hardly think that you of all people have any room to criticize his history," she said flatly, careful to keep her voice as far away from accusatory as possible, least she turn this relatively civil disagreement into an all-out war. "Or any of us, for that matter. Every single person in this dysfunctional little group is a killer, willing or otherwise. Who are we to judge what he's done?"

"There is a difference between killing out of necessity and unadulterated slaughter," he said pointedly, dark brows pulling together over his nose. "The Antivan is a sociopath – a wanted man with a price on his head. Even if he does manage to keep his blades sheathed and not bury them in your back, I am certain whatever assassin the Crows have sent for him would grant you no such courtesy if they found you in their way."

"So what would you have me do, Fenris? Turn a blind eye and leave him to his fate? We'd find him dead in an alley by sunrise."

"It is not your responsibility to protect that cretin from those who hunt him, Hawke."

"You're right. It isn't," Hawke said with frustration, the blunt edges of her fingernails digging into her biceps as her grip tightened. "Just like it wasn't my responsibility to help when it was you in his place."

Fenris reeled as though she had struck him across the face, his eyes flashing with something she would have called hurt if it weren't for the black look which accompanied it. Strained silence fell between them, the elf appearing as though he were torn between wanting to scream at her and storming off in a rage. After several long moments of narrow-eyed scrutiny passed, the man finally shifted in place, the corners of his mouth pulled down into the same frown she was half convinced had become a permanent feature of his face as of late.

"_A real shame, that,_" she thought solemnly, her gaze straying to his lips before she could gather enough sense to stop herself. _"He always looked so handsome when he smiled." _

"Our - circumstances - are nothing alike," he growled through clenched teeth, visibly struggling to keep hold of his anger.

"No, they really are," she said, eyes closing as she shook her head before finding his once more. "Zevran has just as much control in all this mess as you do with Danarius. I helped you back then because it was the right thing to do, and I'll do it again in a heartbeat if need be because -

– _because losing you to him would kill me –_

- because I consider you a friend, whether you accept that fact or not. And I'm sorry, Fenris, but I won't stand idly by now either, not when there's something I can do. Consequences be damned, I _will not _have Zevran's blood on my hands, indirectly or otherwise. The two of you will just have to play nice for a few days."

The elf's mouth fell open, his lips forming the first syllables of what was sure to be another protest when a door down the hall was thrown open, banging against the opposite wall hard enough to send several splinters skittering across the floor. Hawke's attention snapped to the commotion in time to see Isabela saunter out of the room, Zevran following close behind with a well-worn pack draped lazily over one shoulder.

"Ready to get going?" she asked him quickly, eager for the chance to avoid further arguments with Fenris, whose expression had turned putrid at the Antivan's arrival.

Zevran nodded in agreement, gesturing down the stairwell with an extended hand. _"_I follow your lead, Hawke."

"Right then. Good-night, Fenris," she said without looking to him, arms falling to her sides as she turned to make her way down the staircase, the farewell earning her a short _humph _in return.

Isabela caught up to her at the first step, linking their arms together to chat excitedly about the new jewelry she planned to buy with her evening's winnings before disentangling herself when they reached the bar. The pirate waved a hurried good-bye as she plopped herself in the lap of a half-conscious dock worker, one hand snaking suspiciously low around the suddenly attentive man's waist while a sultry "How'd you like to buy a girl a drink, Sweetness?" floated across the room.

Hawke paused at the front door to the tavern, one hand resting on the frame as she turned to find Zevran only halfway between the staircase and the entrance, his progress through the crowd most likely hindered by the bundle on his back. A warm smile pulled at the edges of his tattoos as he came to stand beside her, all white teeth and full lips. She returned it with a feeble grin of her own, her heart pounding itself against her ribs as she took in the way his copper skin glowed in the candlelight from the room's sconces.

"_Andraste's flaming ass, what are you getting yourself into this time, Marian?_"

"Well," she said out loud, voice cracking as heat began to work its way up from the base of her throat, "this should be interesting, don't you think?"

"Indeed I do, my friend," he said, still smirking as he placed his hand on the rusted handle, holding the door open to her. "Indeed I do."

With Hawke's face now thoroughly burning they took their leave of the Hanged Man, unaware of green eyes following them as they disappeared into the night.

* * *

Fenris watched Hawke and the pirate slip down the stairwell and into the bar room with fists balling, fighting against the urge to chase after her for what he knew would be a fruitless attempt to make the fool mage see reason. Beside him the Antivan shifted in place, pushing his pack higher onto his back before turning to look at him, the same egotistical smirk he had worn all evening still plastered across his face.

"Well," he said, the sound of poorly masked mirth in his voice making a muscle in Fenris' jaw twitch. "I suppose this is farewell for now, my friend. I am certain we will be seeing each other again soon, yes?"

The warrior said nothing in response to the elf's question, forcing himself to focus instead on Hawke's slow disappearance into the crowd. Anger, exasperation, and what he begrudgingly recognized as concern along with a thousand other half-formed thoughts whipped through his mind, tossed back and forth like a boat torn from its moorings in a storm. This was sure to be it. The moment he had seen coming for years now, where Hawke's inability to disregard her bleeding heart would ultimately be her demise.

"I believe I shall take your scathing look as a 'yes'," Zevran said with a shrug, moving to follow the women down onto the main floor.

Fenris' body reacted of its own accord, a clawed hand shooting out to grab hold of the assassin's shoulder before he could move farther away, stopping the man in his tracks.

"You have something you wish to say?" the Antivan asked, demeanor turning cool as he slowly turned his head to look back at the warrior, the muscles of his arm tensing under his grip.

"I will warn you once," Fenris said, voice rough and dangerous as a wolf's growl. "Should Hawke come to any harm whatsoever by your hand or by those who hunt you - should you lay a single _finger_ on her - I promise the Crows will be the least of your worries."

"Ah, threats of pain, suffering and death is it then? How magnificently unoriginal."

"I've said my piece. I would suggest you heed it," he said shortly, jerking his arm away from the elf. "Know that I will be watching you, assassin. Very closely."

"I would not have expected anything less," the Antivan said, turning back to descend the stairs with a curt nod. "After all, what satisfaction is there in a conquest won without challenge?"

Fenris struggled to keep himself rooted as the man slunk down the stairs and towards Hawke, his temptation to rid themselves of the cur once and for all tempered only by sheer force of will. He watched in muted rage as the mage smiled at his approach, her face flushing a deep red as they spoke before slipping out of both the building and his sight.

The door to the tavern was still swinging when Fenris made his own way to the exit, shoving through groups of disgruntled patrons without so much as a passing glance. With head low and lyrium burning he stepped out into to the night to trail them from the shadows, the sound of Hawke's laughter prickling his skin as it floated back to him through the humid Lowtown air.


End file.
